


You're Ripped At Every Edge (But You're A Masterpiece)

by dorothycanfly



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Lives, Bisexual Steve Harrington, But first: feelings, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone is in therapy, Fix-It, Gay Billy Hargrove, Harringrove, Hurt/Comfort, I had a lot to say about s3 so this happened, M/M, Mild Language, Neil Hargrove is dead because honestly I can't deal with him, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post Season 3, Recreational Drug Use, Robin is queen of the lesbians, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorothycanfly/pseuds/dorothycanfly
Summary: "Hargrove is here." Robin's voice sounds like she's under water."I know. I was there, too. We saw him come in, like, an hour ago." It was the first time he'd seen Billy conscious and on his feet since Starcourt. And tonight he had walked through the front door into a high school party where Steve and Robin were sitting at the top of the stairs waiting for their trip to kick in, and the whole world had started to tilt on its axis.He was here, in a leather jacket and those stupid tight jeans and that halo of curls, and all Steve could think about was the memory of hauling that mangled body up the broken escalator, through the ruins of the mall, warm blood soaking through his Scoops uniform at an alarming rate, Billy getting heavier and heavier with every step until he was an actual dead weight hanging off Steve's neck. He'd been right back in that parking lot, Max screaming Billy's name over the sound of an ambulance, and Steve putting his hand to Billy's blood-slick chest and finding only cold and the distinct lack of a heartbeat.





	1. 1.

It's a Friday night in December and Steve Harrington is high as a fucking kite.

He probably shouldn't be, but then again the universe also shouldn't split open and try to swallow him up every few months. If no one is playing by the rules anymore, Steve figures he's allowed to walk off the field every once in a while. He just... he needs a break, okay? So he let Robin drag him to a stupid fucking high school party and when Frankie offered him LSD he didn't say no.

He hasn't been in high school in what feels like a century, even though he only graduated in June. He doesn't know who currently holds the crown, but it doesn't matter. Not since Starcourt. Not since his face got plastered all over the news as "one of the people at the center of the Hawkins tragedy". As soon as he walks through the door, he steps back into his familiar spotlight.

Steve "the hair" Harrington, fallen king of Hawkins high who graduated dead last in his class and turned to a career of scooping ice cream instead of going to college, rocketed back up straight through the stratosphere into actual hero status. Not too many details got out, but they got the gist of it: the Russians infiltrated Hawkins and built a secret base under Starcourt Mall. They were working on something, weapons, mind control. A bunch of people got caught up in it, kids even. Can you imagine? Thirty people died, but Harrington, he was right there. Harrington fought the commies. I heard he drove his car straight through the doors to save a bunch of kids. I heard he dragged Billy Hargrove out of there, more dead than alive. I heard he set off fireworks and brought the whole building down on top of the Ruskies. I head, I head, I heard...

They don't know about the Mindflayer, or the Upside Down. They don't know about Eleven, the flayed, or the gate. They don't know what Billy Hargrove did.

It's two hours into the party and his trip has well and truly kicked in. Him and Robin have barricaded themselves in the upstairs bathroom and are passing the time chain smoking and giggling and describing their trips in fragmented sentences that make perfect sense to them.

Steve loves Robin. Not in a romantic way, it's far beyond that. They went through a dozen different flavors of hell together, from torture and kidnapping and death threats to fighting supernatural creatures to sitting through Hopper's funeral. Shared trauma, Nancy calls it.

Trauma has been the word of the day for the past five months. His therapist loves it too. He sees her twice a week now, and he has a refillable prescription for anxiety meds and sleeping pills. He's off the painkillers, though, since his smashed-up face has healed up completely. Again. Let's not go there right now.

He knows Robin is also still in therapy, although she insists that talking to Steve is a million times more helpful than talking to Doctor Donnelly. Steve agrees, but he also likes talking to the doc, because that means he gets to tell the same story twice. He gets to run through it again and again, trying to throw the words so far away from him that they'll stay away. Turn them into a story. Once upon a time, a monster came to town...

It doesn't matter. It's all still there. Steve can still close his eyes and relive every goddamn second of that cursed Fourth of July weekend, like rewinding a tape. So he does. He closes his eyes against the swirling colors on the bathroom tiles and behind the dark of his eyelids they weave together into a ferris wheel. An underground hallway lit by blue lights. A syringe coming straight at him, so real that he flinches. The neon lights of Starcourt. Fireworks going off like flowers blooming, flowers opening up to reveal rows and rows of teeth, a living nightmare shaped like a spider rearing up to its full height and that sound, that sound...

He opens his eyes, pulls back from the edge. He can't afford a bad trip right now, hardly has enough sanity left to get him through the day. But it also helps. If only he could shove his nightmares into the trip, then maybe once he sobers up he'll be able to trick his overcooked brain into thinking none of it was real. Fight madness with madness. Take control.

"Hargrove is here." Robin's voice sounds like she's under water.

"I know. I was there, too. We saw him come in, like, an hour ago." It was the first time he'd seen Billy conscious and on his feet since Starcourt. He'd seen a glimpse of him in the hospital, when Steve was being discharged and Billy was still hooked up to a dozen machines. He'd only caught a flash through a half open door, but he'd noticed that the motionless Billy had been strapped down to the bed. And tonight he had walked through the front door into a high school party where Steve and Robin were sitting at the top of the stairs waiting for their trip to kick in, and the whole world had started to tilt on its axis.

He was here, in a leather jacket and those stupid tight jeans and that halo of curls, and all Steve could think about was the memory of hauling that mangled body up the broken escalator, through the ruins of the mall, warm blood soaking through his Scoops uniform at an alarming rate, Billy getting heavier and heavier with every step until he was an actual dead weight hanging off Steve's neck. He'd been right back in that parking lot, Max screaming Billy's name over the sound of an ambulance, and Steve putting his hand to Billy's blood-slick chest and finding only cold and the distinct lack of a heartbeat.

Steve knows Billy lived, has known since the second he woke up in the hospital himself because it was literally the first thing he'd asked. He had to know if he'd failed, if the Mindflayer had truly gotten everyone. They had lost Hopper. They had lost all the flayed residents of Hawkins. But when the gate snapped shut and the Mindflayer fell apart with a last bone-rattling shriek, Billy Hargrove had still been breathing.

Billy had snapped his mind control. Billy had turned on the thing and thrown himself into the line of fire with a mad, wild-boy howl, to protect a little girl he didn't know. The beast had slashed and carved at him, but Billy Hargrove had planted his feet, refusing to budge from his spot in front of Eleven, roaring back at it. _You want the kid, you go through me._

Steve didn't understand why they always had to cut these things so goddamn close, but the monster turned to sludge right when it reared up to rip through Billy's chest and he had dropped to the floor, bleeding and wheezing and within an inch of his life, but that inch was enough. They had all seen it. Billy Hargrove had been ready to die to save them.

So Steve got him out. He got the barely conscious boy up the stairs and out the door while pressing his hand to the biggest of the wounds in his side and praying to every deity he'd ever heard of. Because Steve needed Billy to live. Because Max was crying, because he had saved El, because Billy had been all alone and no one had cared, because they had nearly killed him when they thought he was lost, because Steve was so, so, so sorry.

He's staring at his hands, wondering where all the blood has gone, and Robin is still talking.

"Huh?"

"Should we go find him?"

"Why?"

"Because, dingus. None of us have seen him since that night. I didn't even know he was discharged. Did Max say something?"

"No."

"Well, aren't you... curious? Bad word but you know what I mean."

"Not right now."

"Why not?"

"Because, Robin, I'm high as fuck. I'm not in the mood for confrontation. My doctor says it's bad for me."

"I outrank your doctor. He saved our lives and you saved his. At the very least you should talk to each other." A beat of silence. "Does he even know?"

"Max told him."

"And?"

"Robin, Jesus fucking- I didn't ask, okay? It's none of my business anyway."

"Are they still in therapy as well?"

"I'd sure as fuck hope so. Max goes twice a week and Billy has daily sessions in the hospital, last I heard." Steve scrambles to his feet, holding himself up on the sink. His reflection looks insane, his pupils dilated like black tunnels, his hair sticking up in every direction. "I need to get out of this room. Let's go outside for a minute."

"You promise you'll tell me when the trees start to freak you out? I don't want to call 911 and have to explain this when you go catatonic again."

"Cross my heart. Now move, come on, please, I really need some air." He hauls Robin up to her feet and unlocks the bathroom door.

They have to fight their way through a crowd of highschoolers, underage girls making eyes at Steve "defender of Hawkins" Harrington, and them being stared down by Robin. Everyone thinks they're fucking, and probably for the best, because Steve really can't deal with jailbait right now.

They make it to the front door and when the door closes behind them it's like the volume goes down on the whole evening and Steve relaxes into the icy December wind. His head is full of cotton balls. The stars are swirling. The rows of cars in the driveway and down the street gleam like jewels in the glow of a street light that pulses like a jellyfish. He slips deeper into the trip like pulling a hood over his head.

"Coats?"

"Huh?"

"Where are our coats?" Robin repeats. She shivers and her breath comes out like a little cloud. Steve thinks it looks like a cat and he reaches out to pet it.

"Dunno. Upstairs, I guess. The first bedroom we were in, maybe?"

"Let's go get them, before we catch pneumonia."

"No." He resists when she tries to pull him back towards the door. "It's too loud."

"Okay, then stay here. Right here, okay?" She walks back up the steps to the front door and turns the knob. A tidal wave of light and sound spills out. "I'll be right back."

The quiet feels good. So does the cold. And being alone. He takes breath after breath and gazes up at the wisps of silver clouds that stream out of him. He tries to stay with the high, tries to get lost in shapes and colors and everything that’s not real, but his mind sneaks down a familiar path and he has no choice but to follow. Even if he hadn’t been fucked up, seeing Billy Hargrove alive and walking around and in one piece… it’s more than he can process right now.

He knows that “in one piece” is a relative term. He knows that the brat prince of Hawkins was taken for a ride straight through hell, all that golden California skin overgrown with scar tissue. To say nothing of what it has done to his mind. He doesn’t know details, but it’s not hard to guess. Billy got possessed, used like a puppet, made into a tool for the Mindflayer to commit indescribable horrors, and he was awake through it all. He fought every step of the way, only to see how no one was willing to reach out and pull him across. It’s not hard to guess, but Steve tries really, really hard not to think about it. Or he might start sobbing out of guilt.

They wrote him off. All of them. They’d have left Billy to die and rot if he hadn’t somehow, somehow, wrestled himself free. He’d asked El what she did, what she said to him. She told Steve what she’d seen on the beach inside Billy’s head, and Steve had cried himself into a panic attack.

One gesture of kindness.

One touch with no violence behind it.

One word of understanding.

And this eighteen-year-old kid had shrugged off the control of a dimension-altering monster, and instantly resigned himself to death to protect the girl who saved him.

Billy Hargrove is a hero and Steve Harrington is a fool.

He knows where this road leads him. He’s been down here every day for the past five months. How could he not? After everything that happened, Billy is still as shiny as ever, fascinating and sharp and dangerous, and Steve turns the thought of him over and over in his hands every night until all his fingers are bleeding.

He knows where he’s gonna end up. And he keeps going.

He’d hated Billy Hargrove. He’d hated him for a good long while, in the way boys hate a high school rival who beats the shit out of them and steals their crown and makes a fool of them on the basketball court. He never wanted him to die, though. And when Steve leaned over Billy’s body in the Starcourt parking lot and put a hand to his chest and found only silence, he got hit by a wave of grief more painful than anything he’d been through all weekend. Because Billy couldn’t die before Steve had had a chance to apologize. For fucking everything. He wasn’t gonna live his life knowing that Billy Hargrove died to save him, and Steve had never even gotten over their stupid high school rivalry.

And if he goes a little bit further...

He’s been thinking about Billy Hargrove for a lot longer than five months, and he damn well knows it. But it took Robin and a bottle of vodka on Halloween to really piece it together. Or to let the knowledge out of its little box and say it out loud for the very first time.

She already knew, of course she did. She’s way too smart for her own good.

He’d tried to backpedal immediately. That it wasn’t... that. Not like it had been with Nancy, or Becky, or Tina. That was easy. This was... Billy. And he had really hated him, in those months after their fight at the Byers’. Had felt a hot bubble of rage in his stomach every time he saw Billy’s face in the hallways at school. Had dropped out of basketball because the temptation to take a swing was getting too great. He had even kicked out the Camaro’s left taillight one morning when he came into school late again because the nightmares had kept him awake until sunrise.

It was fixed a week later and he had almost smashed the other one, but then Max told him about the screaming match Billy and his dad had gotten into about the costs, and Billy had shown up to school with a black eye the next day. Steve wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but he could put two and two together, and after that he decided to pretend like Hargrove didn’t exist, make it through his senior year, and get the hell outta Hawkins.

Which had gotten considerably more difficult when he didn’t get into a single college.

At least he had graduated. Being out of school meant he and Billy Hargrove would never be forced to interact again. They could live on opposite ends of Hawkins and run out the clock until either one of them found a way to fuck off for good.

And then the universe just had to unravel once again, and of course Billy Hargrove had to be at the very center of it. And of course it shook something loose in the back of Steve’s head that he had tucked away as tight as he could, and he’d had to pick it up and look at it and tell Robin she was right.

_“I think I’m in love with Billy Hargrove,”_ he had whispered over the rim of the bottle of vodka, like he was scared the glass would shatter at his confession.

_“No shit, dingus,”_ Robin had replied, and Steve had tried to be mad at her for being so blazé about it, but it had ended with them spread out on his living room floor, howling with laughter until their stomachs cramped and tears streamed down their faces, like the stupid, hopeless, teenage queers they were.

Every word out of his goddamn mouth makes Steve want to argue. Every time he jumps for a basketball or revs the engine of his car or blows that stupid fucking whistle, or does any one of the other thousand things Billy does to get all eyes on him, Steve clenches his fists and thinks _asshole._ Every time he catches Billy staring at him with those bedroom eyes and his tongue between his teeth, Steve wants to scream at how easily he feels a blush set in on his cheeks. Billy constantly gets him on the wrong foot, forces him to stay focused, and it’s intoxicating. He makes him feel _awake._ And it simply took Steve a few months to learn to differentiate between the impulse to punch or to kiss.

Steve Harrington is in love with Billy Hargrove, and he knows it. And it’s not _just_ because he’s ungodly beautiful, although that certainly didn’t hurt. It’s because Billy Hargrove is the most infuriating, exhausting, fascinating motherfucker he’s ever met.

Lost deep in the maze of his thoughts, and now starting to shiver in the bite of the winter air, Steve turns around at the sound of the door opening and expects to see Robin with their coats. Instead he comes face to face with messy curls and startled blue eyes, so vivid and bright that he’s sure it’s a hallucination.

"Billy?" It comes out like a question, because Steve is genuinely wondering if he's real. Maybe a little hopeful, too.

"Steve." It's barely above a whisper. Billy takes a full two seconds to get himself together before slipping back into his lazy, bored, high school king persona. "How's it hanging, Harrington?" 

Steve can't help it, he actually giggles at that. Not because of what he said, but because the change was so obvious. He may look for all the world like the same young punk, Steve has spent too much time staring at Billy Hargrove, and he can tell the costume doesn’t really fit him anymore. The laughter visibly throws him, but he doesn't leave. He looks nervous again, but he seems to get the point. After everything they've been through, posturing is sorta off the table.

"I'm pretty good, _Hargrove._ I'm also really fucking high."

"What are you on?"

"Acid."

"No shit," Billy actually laughs, and Steve realizes it's the sound he's least familiar with. "Look at you living all your Woodstock dreams."

"Yeah man, I'm groovy as _fuck,_ " Steve drawls out and throws up a peace sign, anything to hear that laugh again. Success. And then he goes and messes it up by adding "It helps me cope, y'know. Gets me out of my head for a bit." The laughter cuts off and goddamnit Harrington, you and your big mouth-

"Yeah. I know," Billy mumbles. He pulls out a pack of Marlboro's with unsteady fingers, slips one out and lights it on the fourth try. "I could never do acid, though," he adds after taking a long drag. "I don't even think I can drink anymore. Too scared to lose my mind again." Now the laugh is humorless.

"Well, then you definitely came to the right place." Steve gestures at the house. "A high school party in rural Indiana. We drink pepsi and sing songs from Bible camp and all go to bed at ten."

"Oh, so the dozen or so people who wouldn't stop begging me to do a keg stand must have wandered into the wrong party."

“You brought that reputation on yourself, man.”

“Guess I did.” Silence descends for a moment, and Steve’s so wrapped up in the chemicals in his bloodstream that he immediately starts to drift again. He doesn’t realize he’s locked his thousand-mile stare onto Billy’s hair until the boy slightly shifts and Steve catches the amused look on his face.

“You’re all the way in outer space, aren’t you, Harrington?”

“Nah. More like the bottom of the ocean. Everything is all floaty.”

“Really now? So what do you see?”

“Well, all the lights are jellyfish.” Steve points lazily in the direction of the street light at the end of the driveway. “And when I’m indoors the ceiling moves like waves. And all the colors are… so pretty.” And maybe he directs that last wistful sigh directly into the gleaming gold of Billy’s curls, and maybe Steve is just wasted enough to finally indulge in all his jumbled feelings and he has also lost all control over his mouth. He feels a shiver run over his bones and remembers oh yeah, it’s December and he’s outside in nothing but a thin, houseparty-appropriate sweater.

“No coat?” Because Billy is sober and of course he notices.

“Inside. Robin went to grab them but that’s been about five minutes.” Steve is still openly staring at Billy so he doesn’t miss the slight flinch at Robin’s name. It sends a spike of giddiness through him and he feels a stupid wide smile spread across his face until it stretches the icy skin of his cheeks.

“Here. Catch.” And thank the gods for twelve years of basketball reflexes because Billy slips out of his leather jacket and tosses it over to Steve, who awkwardly catches the soft bundle against his chest. The scent that suddenly envelops him is a bit overwhelming, all worn leather and nicotine and cologne and _Billy_. Steve slips it on. It’s a bit baggy on him but the inside feels furnace-hot and when he turns his head slightly the collar brushes against his cheek and he can smell the place where the leather has absorbed so much cologne and hairspray the scent has become part of the fabric.

“Aren’t you cold?” Steve asks while snuggling deeper into the jacket.

“You’ve got five minutes to warm up, and then I’m taking that back.” Billy taps his watch. “I’m timing you.” He tries to get some of the old bite into his voice, but the half-smile and the tiredness Steve suddenly notices sort of ruin it.

“Don’t you mind the cold, though? Will still can’t stand it, he wears like three sweaters at all times, because the cold reminds him of-” Nope. He catches the shadow sliding over Billy’s features and wishes he could swallow his fucking tongue. Big Mouth Harrington strikes again.

“Wow, okay. Sorry. Pretend I didn’t bring that up. My mouth goes all stupid when I’m high. Even more stupid than usual,” Steve starts babbling.

“Yes, I mind the cold. I hate it,” Billy says measured. He wraps his hands roughly around his chest and takes a few long drags from his cigarette. He still doesn’t leave, though, but his eyes do keep a bit of the hardness.

“Want it back?” Steve’s already halfway out of the jacket.

“No.”

They end up sitting together on the steps, not exactly huddling for warmth but not far from it, sharing silence and breaths and a second cigarette that Billy lights for Steve without asking. It’s not a comfortable silence, there’s an obvious space waiting to be filled with words but Steve doesn’t trust his talky-parts for the moment and also there’s colors dancing through the trees and he smells Billy everywhere and he’s so scattered.

“My five minutes are up.”

“I’m fine. Take another two. Or however long it’s gonna take your girlfriend to come back with your coats.” Well, that’s a lot of words to sort through in one go after the long quiet. Steve tries to arrange the fragments, shove the words into his brain and hope his mouth produces an appropriate reply. But he can’t get over how hard Billy tries to sound uninterested and too cool and dangerous, even when he’s doing something nice. It’s not Steve’s fault, it is kinda funny.

“What do you mean, funny?” Ah yes, he seems to have entered the thinking-out-loud stage.

“I was just thinking… Don’t take this the wrong way. But are you aware that you’re being nice?”

“If that’s funny to you, I’ll take my jacket back right now.”

“No, I mean. I don’t know how I never saw it before. It was all such a show. But you’re actually nice. And soft.” At that last word Billy jumps and slides himself all the way to the edge of the step, as far away from Steve as he can get without tumbling into the roses.

“The hell is that supposed to mean, Harrington?” and this time there’s actual anger in his voice. He almost sounds like old Billy.

“Relax, I won’t tell anyone.” Steve twists sideways and gives Billy a loopy smile. Billy averts his eyes. Woo boy, is Steve way too high for this. But he also feels weirdly confident. “And it’s not a bad thing, y’know. This is nice. Nice you is… nice.”

The front door gets yanked open and Steve catches a flash of Robin’s face. She tosses something at his head and immediately slams the door shut again. He recognizes it as his dark wool winter coat.

“Your girlfriend is fucking weird, man.” Billy shakes his head.

“Robin is-” He was about to say _‘a lesbian’_ and catches himself just in time because that’s _really_ not his secret to spill, high or not, “-just a friend. She’s not my girlfriend. We’re not dating. Not ever. We just make people think that we are.”

“And why is that?”

“So that people leave us alone.” Pauze. “I don’t have the energy to deal with girls chasing me, man.” And that finally gets Billy to look him in the eyes again, so fast that the blue blue blue punches the air out of Steve’s lungs. Their gaze holds until Billy visibly shivers and Steve remembers the wool coat. He holds it out.

“Yeah, or you could just give me my own jacket back, genius.” Steve shakes the coat at him. Billy sighs and relents, and that is just so unlike the Billy Hargrove who rolled into Hawkins a little over a year ago, with a permanent scowl and radiating anger like he was on fire inside. This Billy slips into Steve’s fancy wool coat and lifts his curls out of his neck so they cascade over his shoulders and it’s so fucking beautiful.

“You are so different,” Steve mumbles.

“It’s the preppy coat, Harrington. Not really my look.”

“I’m not talking about the coat, man. It’s you. You’re so different.”

“Really? Well damn, I wonder how that happened.” There’s no bite left to his voice, just a bone-deep tiredness. “Let’s see if we can crack this mystery, hmm? Did anything life-altering happen to me in the past few months?”

“Billy....”

“Nah, Harrington, you keep saying stupid shit, now it’s my turn. What do you wanna talk about? About how it felt to get dragged into another dimension? To have that… that thing in my head? To be paralyzed inside my own body, hear that fucking voice come out of my mouth? Being so cold all the time because any hint of heat or sunlight felt like it was gonna boil me alive? Maybe you wanna talk about how I-” He gasps for air, “-how it made me hurt people? How I had to sit in my own head screaming, seeing all their faces? What I did, what it made me do…”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well what did you mean then, huh?” He’s screaming now, crowding back into Steve’s space, leaning over him in an eerily familiar pose, but the anger on his face is flavored with fear and guilt and loneliness. Steve can see it all so clearly like it’s a paint-by-numbers, is convinced he can smell the salt of the tears threatening to spill over his impossibly long eyelashes. “Please enlighten me, _King Steve,_ because I’m out of that goddamn hospital for one day and I thought that a high school party would be the closest thing to normal I was gonna find, but it’s not, and everything is still fucked up and I’m fucked up and then you... You talk so much, you know that? You talk and you talk and you have no idea what you’re saying, telling me that I’m different like that’s something I want to hear, like I don’t KNOW!”

The tears are at the very edge of falling now, Billy’s fists are clenched and trembling and he keeps shifting his arms like he’s straining against his own muscles. The old Billy Hargrove would have pummeled Steve into the dirt ten times over by now, but here he always catches himself just shy of touching Steve. 

“I know what I am,” he forces out through clenched teeth. “I know what I did and I can never undo it. I was a monster and now I’m nothing. So you can stop rubbing it in, alright? I don’t need the king to keep reminding me how weak I am, that he regrets saving my worthless life.”

“Woah.” It’s a reflex action. Even when sober, Steve is a very tactile person, so his first response when he wants to offer comfort is to touch. So he reaches out and wraps both his hands around Billy’s wrists. The wet blue eyes grow wide and the whole scene freezes. Billy looks like someone has smacked him across the face, his eyes wander down to Steve’s hands locked around him and back up to his face like he doesn’t believe it’s actually real. _This is how I die,_ Steve hears himself think vaguely, _he’s gonna crack my head open on the steps._ Instead, Billy shivers.

“Let go.” His voice catches on a sob. “Please.”

“I didn’t let you go in Starcourt and I’m not gonna start now.” And _ho-ly-shit_ that hit way deeper than he meant it to because Billy full-on shatters. He doesn’t even try to stop himself, the tears just start spilling and he can’t hide his face or wipe them away because Steve is still holding his wrists. He relaxes his grip, gives Billy enough slack to pull away if he wants to, and absentmindedly starts rubbing circles on the insides of his wrists with his thumbs. More shivers, a gasping breath. Billy’s eyes close and his head slumps slightly forward.

“I don’t regret saving you. Honestly, it was probably the best thing I did that day because…” Steve tries to shake some of the cotton balls out of his head. “Because you deserved better than to die there. You saved El, you saved all of us, and we weren’t there for you. There was never a scenario where I would’ve left that hellhole without you. I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

“It’s never gonna be right again,” Billy chokes out. “I can’t fix it, I don’t even know where to begin, it’s never gonna end, and I- I’ll never be out of that place. You should have fucking let me die in there, it’s not worth it, I’m not worth it…”

“Well, tough. You’re out and life goes on. Never took you for a quitter, Hargrove.” Steve tries to needle at Billy, to shock him out of his breakdown. The boy only shakes his hanging head.

“You have no idea-”

“How it feels? Buddy, I know you’ve been fully briefed by Max by now, you know about the amount of messed-up shit that goes on in this town. This is the third time we’ve gone through this, alright? And yeah, you had it way, way worse than most, but you’re out now, okay? You’re here and we’re all here with you and we’re alive, so we go on. You owe me that much, asshole, because dragging your heavy ass out of a burning building was an ordeal.” Billy makes a wet sound that’s either a laugh or a hiccup. He raises his tear-streaked face.

“Harrington, I…”

“I know, man. I’m sorry, too. I’m so fucking sorry we didn’t get you out sooner.” He releases Billy’s wrists and carefully places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m also wasted so I’m gonna hug you now. Please don’t punch me in the face.” The boy freezes up, doesn’t even breathe when Steve slides his arms around his shoulders and pulls him in. “You’re not worthless, goddamnit,” Steve mumbles into the collar of his own coat and the curls brushing past his face. “It wasn’t your fault so stop trying to take all the blame. You were never a monster. You were an asshole and a peacock and a shithead teenager and if those are crimes then I’m right there with you. But nothing that happened last summer was your fault. We know, okay? We know you tried to get out, to make it stop. And you did, you stopped it. It fucking sucked, all of it, but... You were a hero, alright? That’s who you really are under all that bullshit and we all saw it so you can’t take it back.”

Billy deflates with a long, shuddering breath. He goes lax in Steve’s arms, leans into the embrace, and then surprises him when he locks his arms around Steve’s torso and clutches at his shoulders like he’s drowning. Every sob seems to jolt him forward, presses them closer. Steve’s face is wet, he realizes, and since it’s not raining or snowing it must be because somewhere down the road he also started crying. Thinking about where they’ve been it suddenly seems inevitable that they’d end up here, quietly clinging to each other in the dark and sobbing into each others shoulders. They’ve been drawn together since day one, crashing into each other like storm fronts, frustrated when the collision never felt quite right. This, whatever it is, is the edge of what they’ve been skirting around.

The front door opens again and Robin steps out of the rectangle of blinding yellow light. She shrugs her coat on and slips the cigarette from behind her ear into her mouth.

“So,” she says as she crouches down and casually slips her hand into Steve’s coat pocket, the coat that Billy is still wearing, and fishes around for his lighter like she walks in on scenes like these every single day. “This party fucking sucks. Y’all ready to go?”

“Where are we going?” Steve asks and reluctantly lets Billy slip out of his grip. The other boy twists away and tries to scrub all evidence of his breakdown from his face with the wool sleeves.

“Back to your place, dingus. It’s way too loud and juvenile in here, it's killing my high, and you two are gonna freeze to death out here, so let’s go. I’m feeling tea and Fleetwood Mac and cheese puffs and your big-ass couch. Up.” She grabs Steve by his elbow and manhandles him to his feet. “And that includes you, Hargrove.” Billy is still sat on the stairs, expression unreadable, perfectly locked up again.

“Yeah, alright,” he says like he’s doing them some kind of big favor and pushes himself up in one fluid motion. Robin rolls her eyes.

“You honor us. C’mon, Harrington’s place is literally one street over, you can come pick up your car in the morning.”

“No need, I walked here.” Billy falls quietly into step with them. “Car’s totaled.”

Steve shoots Billy a look past Robin’s face and something passes between them. Somehow, the idea of the Camaro sitting in a junkyard somewhere pisses Steve off.

“Did you scrap it?”

“Nah. Couldn’t bear the thought. She’s sitting in our garage like some morbid piece of modern art. I’m gonna try to get her fixed up, but it’s gonna take forever and chances are she’s beyond repair anyway. No telling if she’ll ever run again.”

“She will,” Steve says with so much determination that Robin dissolves into a fit of giggles, but at least Billy gives him another one of those amused half-smiles out of the cloud of bleeding colors that has started to form around him.

“Yeah, okay, Harrington.”

It feels like a small victory.


	2. 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three queers eating cheese puffs and getting competitive with trauma. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason this story took OFF and I got way overstimulated by all the sweet comments so I hammered out chapter 2 extra fast.  
> I send all my lovin' to you. <3

He should’ve listened to Max, he repeats to himself like a mantra while he bobs through the crowd of the houseparty like a balloon someone had let float away. He should’ve stayed home like she asked but after five months confined to the hospital he couldn’t spend another minute indoors. He needed noise, normalcy, a reason to dig out his tightest jeans and his jewelry and to do his hair like it still mattered. Like he mattered.

The walk there had been the best part, despite the cold, but once he was through the doors it felt like someone had pushed him into a blender. The crappy pop music was too loud, there were too many people talking to him, bodies pressing up from all sides, cups of punch being shoved at him, the smell of booze and smoke and sweat so thick he felt it cling to him.

He lasts about an hour. All things considered not a bad time for his first night back on the scene. All things considered. Not that he wants to consider all things, that’s why he had come in the first place. But every time a girl wraps herself around him like ivy he peels her arms off with a lame excuse and ducks into the next room of the house. Every cup or glass or bottle they hand him is immediately abandoned because the thought of becoming black-out drunk that had seemed so appealing when he left his house has turned absolutely terrifying. And there’s simply no way he’s going anywhere near the keg they have set up in the kitchen, no matter how many rowdy teenage boys started howling with glee when their keg king suddenly appeared in their midst after months of absence. They treat him like the Jesus of midwestern high school parties, resurrected to come reclaim his crown.

It’s harder to escape the boys. They don’t take no for an answer, pull him towards the keg, misread his refusal as a windup for his big reveal. They keep touching him. Forcing him. Their endless chanting of _Billy, Billy, Billy,_ turning into something sharper, taking him far away.

He freezes, has to retreat to the back of his head and go through every single coping mechanism his doctors have tried to drill into his messed-up head. Count to ten, breathe through your nose, focus on your body, ground yourself... But the cold claws of fear grab hold of his guts and squeeze. There’s no way he’s letting these hicks hold him upside down and force a tube in his mouth. He can feel a memory in the back of his throat, but instead of beer it’s something slimy and prickly and _alive-_

He mumbles something about taking a leak and shrugs Tommy’s arm off his shoulders. Maybe he pushes past him with a little more force than necessary but at least he doesn’t take a swing and for Billy, that counts as massive progress.

As he pushes his way through the crowd towards the front door, he catches the tail end of a conversation from a gaggle of junior girls. The same name he’s heard floating around all night. Looks like Steve Harrington is here with his girlfriend. Billy isn’t sure exactly which part of that sentence sends a slash of pain through his stomach but now he definitely needs to get out of this fucking house. 

He slams the front door shut behind him. Fresh air. Just for a minute. Just to regain his balance, smoke a cigarette to steady his shaking hands. Then he’ll decide if he’s gonna sneak back home or if he’s going back inside to find Steve Harrington and... Do something stupid, probably. Either prospect feels like a kick to his hollow chest.

“Billy?”

And of course, of fucking course it’s him, because Billy Hargrove will catch a break when hell freezes over.

He’s halfway out of his mind on acid, swaying back and forth on the immaculately mown front lawn and giggling to himself. The soft swoop of his hair has been thoroughly messed up _(her hands?)_ and his fucking Bambi eyes are half-lidded and drifting around hazily like there’s so much to see. Steve Harrington is a mess and he’s so goddamn beautiful it makes Billy’s entire body vibrate with the wild galop of his heartbeat.

He should leave, he knows it the second they lock eyes. Billy is wildly unprepared for this moment, regardless of how often he’s imagined it in the past few months. It took him weeks before he even dared think about him, especially after what Max told him. _“Steve carried you out. He wouldn’t leave without you. He saved your life.”_ He already has so many apologies with Harrington’s name on them, and now Billy also owes him his worthless life?

He should leave. He doesn’t. He should talk to him. He can’t. So a leftover shard of the old devil-may-care Billy goes _fuck it. Just talk to him. If you can’t pour your heart out, at least try and act like you’re still halfway normal. Fucking talk to him. He might not even remember._

Billy wants to try. He really, really does. He promised his doctor. He promised Max. Make amends, second chances, rebuild, trauma, yada yada. He wants to deserve a second chance, with everyone, and maybe kinda especially with Steve. And he’s maybe kinda especially scared that he won’t give him one. Or he will, and that will hurt even worse. _Christ_ , he’s fucked up.

So he stays. And he talks. And he tries to be normal, tries to keep his claws retracted. He’s still unlearning all his awful reflexes and tonight is a massive test. If he makes it through without getting hammer drunk, slugging Tommy, fucking some random girl in a guest room, or ruining his chances with Steve, the doc had better give him a whole box of gold stars tomorrow.

It goes sideways, but not in any of the ways he feared. Leave it to Harrington to always find a way to surprise him. Instead of rejecting Billy, he acts like he wants him to stay. But he also seems to stare right through him. Billy’s not sure if the acid made Steve a mind reader, but he very calmly pushes all the bullshit out of the way and throws out all these words that cut right to his center. Billy feels caught in the act, put on display with the world’s brightest spotlight shining down on all the grimy, gory, secret parts of himself. Steve calls him _soft_ , for fuck’s sake. _He knows_ , a vicious voice sing-songs in his head. _He knows and he’s messing with you._

He really doesn’t mean to get up in Steve’s face and scream at him. He definitely didn’t mean to admit to any of the shit that comes out of his mouth, and he’s so sure that he has wasted the second chance he didn’t even deserve in the first place, and Steve, Steve...

Steve touches him.

They’ve only ever touched while trading punches, or when bumping into each other on the basketball court. No more than strictly necessary, plus whatever Billy could get away with under the guise of being a shithead bully. Because pushing Steve down on the court so he could lean over him, or shoulder checking him _in the goddamn showers_ were the little moments that got Billy through the day. Fleeting memories of skin-on-skin contact that he could torture himself with.

They were never friends. They were barely civil with each other. And now here they are, Steve holding Billy up with the most gentle grip on his wrists and for a moment it almost feels like he’s not entire made of broken glass.

“I didn’t let you go in Starcourt and I’m not gonna start now.”

Billy Hargrove is a cryer. Very few people used to know this, he has seen to that. These days he’s gotten used to crying in front of his doctors, in front of Max even. But sobbing so hard that his head hurts while Steve fucking Harrington holds him and _apologizes to him_ and whispers an endless stream of _good things_ in his ear, that’s definitely a new one.

_You were a hero._ Dear God, he’s gonna die, he’s gonna crumble to dust right here and now.

He rips himself away from the embrace when the door opens behind them. The girl steps out, Robin, Steve’s apparent _not_ -girlfriend. That last fact shouldn’t feel so much like hope but he can’t help it. He’s always been a greedy, hungry, starved child.

They invite him along, which is how he ends up toeing off his boots in the hallway of Harrington’s frankly ridiculous house. The place is lit up like a Christmas tree, every single light left on as if Harrington has never been yelled at for running up the electricity bill after falling asleep reading to a single bedside lamp.

“Cheese puffs, cheese puffs, oh cheesy cheese puffs!” Robin sings in a terrible off-key rendition of Lollipop and skips towards the kitchen on socked feet. She starts slamming cupboards like she lives here and yells back at Harrington to “Put on some music! Fleetwood Mac, please and thank you, either Rumours or the one with Landslide.” Harrington is pulling off Billy’s leather jacket and gives a lazy laugh in response. He looks over at Billy who is slipping out of the heavy wool coat and reaches out to take it off his hands.

“What a perfect hostess you are,” Billy quips but his voice still comes out a little hoarse from crying. Steve lets his head roll to the side and smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle. He looks genuinely pleased that Billy is here.

There’s a loud ripping sound coming from the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable rain-like noise of about seventeen thousand cheese puffs cascading over a tile floor. “Whoops,” Robin calls out.

“That’s my cue.” Steve swings the coats over the banister. “Can you see to the music situation? Living room, next to the tv, you’ll figure it out.” And just like that, Billy is left to wander the big, bright, empty house on his own.

____________________________________

“He’s here,” Robin hisses in Steve’s ear while they’re scooping handfuls of cheese puffs off the kitchen floor into a bowl.

“Yeah no shit, I’m aware.” He’s still smiling like a fool.

“But he’s _heeeeere!_ ” She actually bounces a little at that.

“Fucking Christ, Robin, who has a crush on him, me or you?”

“First of all, gross. Second, I’m a lonesome lesbian in the rural midwest, let me live vicariously through you, you selfish bitch.”

“Yeah, because me falling in love with the traumatized straight guy who beat me up in high school is the queer love story we all need.”

“Billy Hargrove is about as straight as me.”

“Says you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Harrington, _please_ act like you have a brain for two seconds. Have you _seen_ the way he looks at you? Just because he’s so repressed that he pulled your pigtails like a four-year-old, that doesn’t mean-”

“For a four-year-old he has a mean right hook.”

“Stop trying to hetero your way out of this!”

“Lower your goddamn voice,” Steve hisses. He listens tensely but the only sounds coming from the living room are the opening notes of Second Hand News.

“I’m just saying,” Robin continues at a more reasonable volume, “I saw you guys through the hallway window. I was stood there like an idiot holding two coats for a solid twenty minutes, amigo, and I had a front row seat.”

“You’re the creepiest cheerleader ever, you know that?”

“I prefer ‘supportive yet concerned friend’. My point is that you may be the dumbest bisexual to ever walk God’s green earth, but take it from me: Billy Hargrove punched you in the face because he couldn’t handle his own big gay crush on presumed ‘straight boy’ King Steve. And maybe some other unresolved issues and anger management problems. But mostly the gay stuff. Trust me, I’ve wanted to throttle many a straight girl for being so infuriatingly beautiful and unattainable right in front of me.”

“You need to stop talking for like, two seconds.” Steve gives a final lazy wave over the kitchen floor and sends orange cheesy comets shooting off in every direction. Fuck it, cleanup is tomorrow-Steve’s problem. “Look, even if he is into guys... Into me... It’s a lot, okay? I’m not trying to hetero my way out of this. We’ve all been through so much shit, him especially, and I can’t just-” He clicks his mouth shut and scrambles upright, leaves Robin sitting in the middle of the remaining cheese puffs. He fills his mom’s fancy silver tea kettle with water and rummages through the collection of tea flavours that Robin keeps bringing over.

“I know it’s different for you,” he mumbles into the box of earl grey. “You knew you were gay when you were eleven, you told your mom when you were thirteen. I’ve only been dealing with this for a few months and you are the only one who knows. I don’t know what I’m doing. Jesus, _you_ had to explain to _me_ that bisexual is even a thing.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” She gets up and pushes him out of the way, starts messing with tea bags and picking out mugs. “But you’re happy he’s here, right?”

“Duh. I feel like I’m about to lose whatever’s left of my mind-”

“-because of your big, gay crush,”

“-but I’m so happy we talked. Because even without all... that. It was about time. Feels like we’re finally clearing the air. But I’m into him. I was into him before and I couldn’t deal with it and then we hated each other and I couldn’t deal with that even more. And then he almost died in my fucking arms and now he’s here and we’re all scarred to hell but we finally _talked_ and...” He picks up the bowl of cheese puffs with a sigh. “I really like him. Fucking hell. I can’t mess this up.”

“Then you won’t, dingus. I’ll set you straight. Metaphorically speaking, obviously.” She gathers the three steaming mugs of tea and gives him that understanding big-sister-face, even though she’s a full four months younger than him. “It’s gonna be okay. Now move, can’t keep our guest waiting forever.”

* 

“...and that is why the music from the sixties and seventies will always be superior. It’s like, immortal.” Robin ends her lecture and shovels another handful of cheese puffs into her face in lieu of a victory sip. She’s made her nest in one corner of the couch with her feet pulled under her and Steve’s stupid long legs draped over her lap. Billy is hanging in the other corner and looks more relaxed than Steve has ever seen him. Every time he reaches for the snack bowl that Steve keeps balanced on his stomach, Billy has to lean over him and the gold medallion swings over his face like a pendulum. A multi colored streak follows in its wake.

“Edgar Allan Poe,” Steve says triumphantly. The conversation halts around him and Billy freezes with his handful of snacks halfway between the bowl and his mouth. Robin stifles a giggle. “The pit and the pendulum,” he clarifies and reaches out to give the medallion a little tap. And misses by about two inches. “But with rainbows.”

“It sure is, buddy.” Billy bites his lip to keep from laughing and Robin gives his knee an affectionate squeeze in what he recognizes to mean _you’re a dumbass and I love you._ “But,” Billy turns his attention back to Robin, “not that I don’t agree with you, but you left some of the best bands out of your lineup. Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Whitesnake, AC/DC-”

“Ugh, I mean actual music, not that headbanger crap.”

“You take that back right now or I’m switching off your goddamn Fleetwood Mac.”

“Good, and then while you’re up you can put on some Beatles.”

“I might actually hurl.”

_“You don’t like the Beatles?”_

It’s been about an hour and Steve has crested the peak of his trip and is slowly rolling back into the real world. Which he usually hates. But he feels so soft and warm and happy wrapped up in the cocoon of scattered conversations. He still sees colors and figures dancing across the ceiling and Robin is absentmindedly drawing patterns on his legs through his jeans which feels really nice, and Billy is right next to him and he gets fired up about every topic and Steve just wants to live in this moment forever.

“So do you guys keep all the lights on for a reason?”

“We’re kind of not cool with the dark anymore,” Steve supplies as casual as he can.

“But the pool lights stay off because the blue light gives me the creeps,” Robin adds.

“And because I hate my pool in general.”

“Yeah okay, I guess that makes sense,” Billy ponders. “My hospital room was never fully dark and I was under constant surveillance so I didn’t really think about that. Didn’t matter either way. Still have nightmares most nights.”

“Yup,” Steve sighs.

“Same here.” Robin adds.

“A toast to being traumatized teenagers, I guess.” Billy gives a humorless laugh and swipes his mug from the coffee table. It’s the obnoxiously bright purple one that says World’s Best Dad that Dustin gave Steve for his birthday last May because he’s a little shit.

“How about a toast to getting better?” Robin raises her own mug.

“Here’s hoping.”

“I’d say that, in a lot of ways, we’re already getting better.” Steve twists around awkwardly so that he can look at Billy. “You know that’s what I meant, right? Before? When I said you were different?”

Billy slightly tenses but he keeps the smile when he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. You word-vomited an explanation at me. You can drop it now.”

“Yeah, but,” he rolls over completely, feels Robin grab the snack bowl off his lap, “this is what I meant, though. We’re all different now. And I’m not saying that what happened to us was even close to a good thing, but like…” He shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe we came out of it better than we went in. I know I did.”

“Here’s to personal growth through trauma!” Robin toasts. Billy also raises his mug but he looks apprehensive. Fleetwood Mac plays on in the background.

_Finally baby_  
_The truth has come down now_  
_Take a listen to your spirit_  
_It's crying out loud_

“Why do you hate your pool?” he asks after a few quiet seconds.

“Because Barb died in it,” Steve says bluntly. “About a year before you moved here. She got grabbed by one of those things while I was upstairs with Nancy. We were barely twenty feet away from her, and now I can’t look at it without thinking about her.”

“Shit,” Billy mumbles. He gets up and walks over to the window, stares out into the inky blackness of the Indiana night. “Shame, though. Nice pool.”

“I can’t stand neon lights anymore,” Robin says. She goes to join Billy at the window and Steve follows and stands on his other side. The three of them gazing out into nothing. “Or fireworks. Loud noises in general. Oh, and elevators freak me out.”

“I’m scared of dogs,” Steve says. “I lose my mind when lights flicker. I can’t tuck my blankets in because it feels like I’m tied down. And I’m pretty sure we all hate fireworks now. Oh, and I have nightmares about tunnels and being chased and the kids dying in front of me.”

“I have nightmares about falling. Or being buried alive.”

"I dream about all the people who died last summer," Billy says calmly. "I don't remember all their faces as clearly, but Heather is usually there." Pauze. "Or my dad. Those two I remember clear as day." He tilts his head back and finds Steve’s gaze with half-lidded eyes full of challenge. "Beat that."

Because of course Billy Hargrove would find a way to turn _trauma_ into a competition. 

"You don't have to talk about that," Robin whispers.

"Good, because I really don't want to." Billy sighs and stretches his shoulders. "We shouldn't fucking have to. People our age should worry about college and prom dates and getting shitfaced for way dumber reasons." He turns to face Robin. "Tell me I'm wrong, little miss personal-growth-through-trauma. Wouldn't you rather still be a stupid girl and worry about which boy you want to smooch instead of the possibility of interdimensional monsters coming through the walls?"

She stares at him for a second before she bursts out in a fit of laughter. 

"Well, if you word it like that, I'll take my chances with the monsters," she chokes out, and when Billy keeps staring at her with a frown, "Oh my God, please be quicker on the uptake, Hargrove. I'm a lesbian. Duh."

“Oh.”

“Oh,” she echoes mockingly but her smile isn’t unkind. There is a challenge in her eyes, though, and Steve knows she has them both beat.

“That... actually makes a lot of sense.” He gives her a once-over and she spreads her arms mockingly, twirls like a ballerina.

“It’s easy to forget that there’s a world out there beyond the bullshit of last summer. We need to remember that we were people before Starcourt, and we are still people now. We’re defined by so much more than one weekend. We have a lot more stories. Nightmares. Loves.” She shoots Steve a look over Billy’s shoulder. “Skeletons in our closets.”

They lock eyes for a good long while. Robin is smiling. Billy’s shoulders are tense. Steve can practically hear him turning words over in his head but he doesn’t rise to the bait. In the end, Billy backs down and no one seems pleased with that result.

“Yeah, I guess we all do,” he mutters, then spins around to face Steve with an impish smile and fire in his eyes, itching to get the upper hand over someone. A flash of the old Billy, the California hellion who lived to see Steve stumble. “What about you, Stevie? What do you keep in your closet?” His voice is a purr but the look in his eyes is eager, hungry. Like he wants Steve to meet him with his own challenge. Like he needs him to set the bar so Billy can hurdle over it. Second verse, same as the first.

Over his shoulder, Steve spots Robin, eyebrows raised and slack-jawed, throwing up her hands in disbelief. Her inference of _say something, you useless queer!_ could not have been louder if she had screamed it in his ear.

“I’m the one who kicked out your tail light last March,” he blurts out. Billy’s eyes go wide in surprise and Robin lowers her head into her hands. Steve wants to bury himself alive. And then Billy starts howling with laughter.

“You- you kicked out my-” He can’t even finish the sentence. “Of all the things I expected to come out of your mouth just now...” He wipes at his eyes. “Goddamn, Harrington, you’re a wild one.”

“I think that’s West Coast speech for imbecile,” Robin grumbles and moves away from the window.

“You’re lucky I didn’t catch you. They’d have never found your body.” Jesus, even his death threats are charming when he’s all loose and grinning like that.

“Thank my lucky stars we’re friends now,” Steve pushes. Billy cocks his head to the side. His tongue slips out between his teeth. There’s a giddy tingle coiling in his stomach as they hold each other’s gaze.

“Yeah, I guess we are.” He sounds so soft. Steve doesn’t tell him. “On that note, I should bounce. It’s almost 3am and I promised Max and Suzan I wouldn’t be out all night.”

They see him out through the front door. Steve insists he’s good to drive, he could drop him off. Robin immediately rips his car keys out of his hands and shoves them in her bra. Billy repeats that it’s fine, he needs the walk after his months-long hospital stay.

“Don’t be a stranger, Hargrove,” Robin yells over Steve’s shoulder.

“Good night, you two.”

“Hey, Billy!” He turns back to face Steve. “See you around?” His grin is wide and dazzling as he winks and disappears into the shadows of the driveway.

As soon as the door is closed, Robin smacks Steve on the back of his head.

“Ow! What in the-”

“You know, sometimes you’re so dim, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were straight.”

____________________________________

Billy walks home in the dark. Which is definitely not smart, but he’s so full of reckless energy that he could almost sprint all the way there. Nothing about this night went like he had expected. Goddamnit, Steve Harrington. He’s smiling so wide his face hurts.

It’s fairy-tale dark outside, inky blackness that would have you believe the sun is never going to rise again. And he doesn’t care. He walks home and he doesn’t look over his shoulder once.

He opens the front door almost without a sound, and yet there’s the immediate rustle of sheets coming from Max’s room. Not like she’s caught reading comic books after lights out, but like she was lying awake in the dark, waiting for him to come home.

“Billy?” She pokes her head into the hallway as he’s kicking off his boots. “Where were you?” She doesn’t say _I was worried_ but he still hears it and it makes him feel guilty and cozy all at once.

“I was with Steve and Robin. It’s fine. Go to bed, Maxine.”

“With Steve and Robin?” Pauze. “Huh.” Yawn. “Tell me tomorrow?”

“Not a chance. Very rated R.”

“Billy, gross.”

“Night, road warrior.”

“Hey?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re home.” She pulls at the hem of her pajamas. “I’ll keep my door open. Call if you need anything, okay?” She slips back into her room without waiting for a reply. Billy swallows down the sudden lump in his throat and quietly closes his bedroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay whoa. I didn't expect this to get comments, like, at all. But oh my GOD y'all made me cry.  
> Thank you so much for all the kind words, I haven't written in so long and it feels incredible to finally fall into a story again and get some love for it. From the bottom of my cold little heart, thank you. x
> 
> With extra love for greekdemigod, for being my real-life Robin.


	3. 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy goes for a run. Steve is a single parent with a hangover. Robin owns the whole world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am shaken, stirred, and a little speechless. What the FUCK, where did y'all even come from??  
> The amount of love and enthusiasm y'all have shown for my little fic took me completely by surprise and I've been a weepy emotional bitch about it every time I get a comment. I honestly can't wrap my head around it, thank you all so so so much <3 I can't wait to all cry about our stupid queer kids together. Please enjoy.
> 
> (note: I'm in a weird mood so this chapter kinda got away from me. I apologize in advance if I hurt anyone's feelings.)

In his dreams they are still screaming. They are so loud, their voices rattle his brain around in his skull, and no matter how many times he rips them to shreds, the noise doesn’t stop. 

He sees Heather, the naked panic in her eyes, her face streaked with tears as she keeps calling out his name, pleads with him. Even as he throws her down on the dark basement floor like a trembling lamb for the wolves to feed on, she keeps looking over to him like he can save her. Like he’s still human. His name a prayer on her lips.

_Billy, Billy, Billy._

It all ends with screaming.

His dad didn’t go out like Heather. The monster whispered in his ear to bring him _another one_ , so Billy had to obey. Later, he would explain it as the monster taking over, using his memories to find easy targets. Like Neil Hargrove when he comes stumbling out of a bar into an abandoned Hawkins parking lot, drunk and pissed off at the sight of Billy. He brought his dad to the basement because he was accessible, because he got in the way of the creature while it was piloting Billy’s body.

He will go to his grave with the other half of the truth caught between his teeth.

He won’t say that he maybe kind of let the reigns slip when the beast reached out to slash at Neil Hargrove. That, for a split second, he relished the power of being the bigger evil in the Hargrove household. That he may have howled with his own voice for a moment when Neil took a swing at him and found that his weak faggot of a son had grown claws and fangs.

He never got a word out. The monster wrapped Billy’s hands around Neil’s throat and squeezed and it was as if a bolt of lighting shot through him from the point of contact. For a single fleeting moment, Billy stopped fighting and he and the monster were perfectly in sync. Like shifting gears in the Camaro, he felt a floodgate of power opening in the back of his mind. His body shook and cracked at the seams when it realized it was taking in more than it could handle. A rush of terror came over him at the absolute wrongness of that feeling. The voice of a little boy cutting through the storm. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it…_

It was early in his possession and Billy still had some fight left in him. It took all he had to pull back from the terrifying well of power and slam that door shut again. He scrambled to regain the feeble grip he had on his mind, but when he finally got a hand back on the wheel it was too late and all he could do was scream at the sight of his dad’s broken eyes staring up into nothing.

He had hated the man with every fiber of his battered soul, had fantasized about doing this very thing. And now it was done and he found himself blindsided by this completely unfair wave of sorrow. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, it was supposed to set him free. He hadn’t meant to make everything so, so much worse.

He brought the cooling corpse to the basement, but without a mind to flay Neil Hargrove’s only use was to get chewed up by the ever-growing Eldritch horror. After that, Billy got tucked away in a corner of his own mind and made to keep quiet. He almost welcomed it.

He wakes drenched in sweat, with a sore throat and his face tacky with dried tears and he knows he must have been crying in his sleep again. _Christ_ , he hopes no one heard him.

That hope is quickly squashed when he sits up and finds Max slumped over by his bed. He must have woken her up with his thrashing and she had posted up next to him like a fierce little guard dog. _Fuck fuck fuck what if he talked what if she heard what if she knows?_

In the soft grey-blue light of a December morning she looks heartbreakingly young. Billy is reminded of waking up in the hospital to a scene very similar to this. The doctors had kept him sedated for four days while they wheeled him from one operation into the next, trying to knot the torn-up pieces of flesh and bone back into a human body. Once they felt confident he would pull through, they weaned him off the sedation and rolled his bed into recovery. He woke up to a spiderweb of tubes and IV lines, his whole body on fire under a heavy blanket of painkillers, and Max fast asleep on a chair next to him.

As quietly as he can, he slips out from under the covers and exits from the foot of his bed. Max doesn’t stir. She must be exhausted after waiting up for him and then electing to stay up and listen to his nightmares instead of sleeping in her own bed.

His alarm clock blinks 6:54 at him. Dawn has barely broken but he knows he’s not going to get another minute of sleep tonight. He pulls on a sweater and a pair of track pants and sneaks out of the house with his running shoes in hand.

It’s biting cold out but he convinces himself he doesn’t care. He needs to run. The first two weeks in the hospital he could barely move, and after that they slowly let him take up physical therapy as stitches and bandages and splints were removed bit by bit. By the end of the second month his body had started to scar and the doctors told him over and over he was lucky to be “a young man in peak physical condition”. He took his physical therapy in leaps and bounds, and soon he’d been hounding every person he could ask to please let him try something harder. The doc signed off on daily supervised sessions in the hospital gym so Billy got at least one of his old coping mechanisms back.

Going outside for runs had been out of the question, though. Billy scuffs his shoes against the porch step and looks around the dead quiet of Cherry road. A nervous tingle almost makes him go back inside so he pushes off and heads out with a light jog.

The irony is that, because he was hardly allowed to smoke in the hospital, his lungs are in remarkably good condition right now. The hard planes of muscle he has been carefully cultivating since the day puberty hit aren’t completely back to their old “look at me” state, but Billy always carved out easily. Then he remembers the angry, ridged patches of scar tissue that now mar his skin, and he picks up the speed of his jog.

He remembers the pain. The grotesque flowery tentacles shooting out at him and sinking hundreds of curved teeth into his flesh, punishing him for daring to do the right thing.

_You don’t deserve to be good._

He sets a punishing pace, his feet rattling out a beat against the pavement that his heart tries to follow. He can’t outrun his brain, though.

For as fast as his body healed, his mind was a very different story. The shrink quickly figured out there was a lot more to fix than the simple trauma of being possessed and forced to murder friends and neighbours. Billy seemed to be a bottomless well of human misery and he was sure the doc would give up once she realized what a lost cause he really was. So he had tried to shock her, scare her off during their first session by throwing all his most colorful stories at her rapid-fire. My mom abandoned me, I murdered my abusive asshole father, I saw thirty people die, I almost got eaten alive by a creature from another world... When that didn’t seem to phase her he spat out “Oh yeah and I’m a fucking fag too.”

He had never admitted it to anyone. Even to the boys he used to fool around with back in Cali, even to the one or two he had felt something for, he had always maintained _I’m not gay. It’s just whatever, man. I’m not a fag._ Because being a fag meant being weak and wrong and failing at the most basic part of being a man, and that meant getting the shit kicked out of him by the whole world, and especially his dad. Billy Hargrove had two options: be a fag or be alive.

That last time in Cali, when his dad had come home when he shouldn’t have and caught Billy with Ricky, Billy was so sure he was going to die. He had goaded Neil through every punch, even when his vision was pulsing with stars from being knocked into the wall. He didn’t care anymore. He had spit out a mouthful of blood and whooped, ready to take every hit he was sure he deserved for being like this, and laughed in his face. _Yeah, take a good hard look, dad, your son’s a cock-sucking faggot._ That was when Neil kicked him down the stairs.

In the hospital Neil told the doctors Billy had gotten in a fight with “those street thugs he was always running around with”. To Susan and Max, he said that Billy had gotten arrested for shoplifting and attacking a cop, and gotten his ass beat for his troubles. That’s why Neil took a demotion at work and got transferred to Middle Of Nowhere, Indiana: to keep his good-for-nothing punk kid off the streets. Because Neil Hargrove was a good parent at his wits end, and Billy was an unhinged criminal with an assault charge.

Billy knew better than to open his mouth, because that would definitely spell the end for him. As miserable as his life was, in that weightless second when his own father kicked him into a fourteen-stair freefall, he realized how scared he actually was of dying. As little as his life meant, it was still better than nothing. Maybe one day there would be light at the end of the tunnel. All he had to do was survive.

His lungs are on fire, his legs are shaking, his vision swims with tears. He’s in a dead sprint now, going right down the middle of the empty street like he’s trying to break the sound barrier. In his mind he remembers the kind smile of the doc as he spat all his venom at her, and this little woman had looked about as intimidated as if Billy had been a feral cat cornered behind a dumpster. She pushed her licorice-red glasses higher up on her nose and asked “So where do you want to start?”

He went back every day. He talked, he screamed, he threw shit around the office. He cried himself into a blackout on multiple occasions. He peeled back layer after layer until he could feel the cold light of day on his soul and the vulnerability left him shaking for hours. And every day it was a little easier. He was still miles off from being okay, but for the first time since his mom left he could look behind him and see a piece of road he has already traveled.

The sessions with Max were the hardest. The doc had asked them if they wanted to take a family session together. Billy had said yes. He hadn’t expected she would, too.

In the end it wasn’t Max’s forgiveness that came hard, it was Billy accepting it and offering her the right words to start his own healing process. Max was already waiting for him, with a trust and a confidence and a fierce love that once again made it clear how much stronger she was than him.

He remembers the handful of letters hidden away at the bottom of his duffel bag. The apology letters they made him write in therapy. “It’s up to you when and how you deliver these words to the people they belong to. Just get it all on paper.” He has one for Max, one for Susan, one for each member of Max’s little nerd squad, he even has one for Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers and Mrs Byers. The one to his mom still isn’t finished. And the one at the bottom, the one he has thought about burning at least once a day since he started writing it, is addressed to Steve Harrington.

He stumbles and almost wipes out on the asphalt. His legs nearly buckle when he comes to a halt and bends over, retches into the cold morning air. Nothing comes up.

Steve Harrington. He remembers last night and a bit of leftover giddiness fights its way through the fog of the nightmares. Steve had taken him home and flopped down on a couch next to him and rambled about popcorn and Risky Business and Edgar Allan Poe. He had offered him this strange cocktail of honesty and hopefulness, had shared stories about his own damage and listened to Billy’s, and still maintained this weird optimism that they weren’t all doomed. Robin had been way better at explaining it. Robin, who had thrown down a gauntlet and looked so disappointed when he didn’t pick it up.

He shivers when he remembers how proud she had said it. _I’m a lesbian. Duh._ Instantly it had clicked. _She knows._ But there had been nothing threatening about her. More like good-natured teasing. _I can see you. Come out, come out wherever you are._

He wants to. God, does he want to. But he’s simply not there yet.

The giddiness spreads out further when he remembers the loaded looks between her and Harrington. He knows he shouldn’t have hope, that if Harrington had anything to say about the matter he would’ve said it last night when his best friend casually came out. Right? Hope is what always got him into trouble in the first place, a quiet bit of wonder when he thought he saw Harrington return his gazes with a familiar, albeit confused, fire. The almost-belief that their little dance around the high school throne meant something more. The slippery slope of hoping turning into wishing into wanting. 

But it does mean that at least Harrington isn’t a bigoted piece of shit. So maybe that’s a start. The promise of a very flimsy safety net for when they figure him out. If. When.

He turns around and starts to hobble back home.

*

It’s 7:40 when he slips back inside. 7:58 when he pads back into his room in a clean shirt and basketball shorts with shower-wet curls. He leans over a still sleeping Max so that his hair drips onto her face.

“Mmmmwhatthef…” She raises a hand to groggily rub at her cheek and shoots him a look.

“Pancakes?” He asks all bright and innocent.

“You are such a dick.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

“You should sleep in your own bed, it does wonders for your mood.” Thank you for checking on me.

“I sleep where I want, you’re not the boss of me.” You’re welcome.

When Susan enters the kitchen an hour later, she finds Max and Billy both with flour in their hair, lip-synching along to Duran Duran into a spatula and a can of whipped cream, and an absolutely ridiculous tower of pancakes on the table. She starts crying and carefully wraps her arms around Billy. He lets her.

____________________________________

Steve wakes up with a mouth that tastes like an ashtray and a brain that feels like a sunny side up egg smushed against the inside of his skull. But hey, no nightmares so he’s counting this as a win. He turns over in his half-sleep, and rolls right into a warm body and gets a mouthful of hair. He shoots bolt upright in his bed, a move he instantly regrets when all his organs slosh around like bubbles in a lava lamp, and he rubs his eyes until they focus on a still soundly asleep Robin.

Right. Duh. Robin. Of course, Robin. Not... 

Someone else.

“Mmmmm,” he groans out and flops back down, jostling Robin on purpose.

“Mmmmm,” she grunts back and reflexively pulls at the covers.

“Mmmmmmmm,” Steve goes even louder.

“Mmmfuckoff.”

“Robiiiin, I’m awaaaake.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“It’s noon. Time for breakfast.”

“I swear to God, Harrington, one of these days I’m going to smother you in your sleep.” She yanks the covers back from the both of them and Steve yelps at the sudden cold air. “Get up, then, bitch. Let’s go-oooooh Jesus fuck.” She sits up and presses her hands to her temples. “Remind me that this is once again the last time I ever do drugs. Ever.”

“Same. Nothing but fruit smoothies and meditation from now on.”

“Please don’t say fruit smoothie, I’m gonna puke all over you.”

“Not if I puke on you first.”

“Just get up and go make coffee, Harrington.”

“Only if you grab the cereal.”

They end up holed up in Steve’s bed, which has been their hangover ritual since the start, slurping down cups of black coffee and eating handfuls of dry cereal out of the box. After about an hour, the thought of getting up and taking a shower becomes tolerable.

"You go first." Robin plants her ice cold feet against his back and kicks him out of his own bed. "You smell like wet dog and hairspray. And I need another nap."

"You know that beautysleep is just an expression, right? Your face is still gonna look like that."

"Don't make me kick your ass again, dingus."

"I should go shower anyway," Steve hoists himself off the floor, "I'm on duty this afternoon."

"Oh goddamnit, I forgot you're babysitting again." Robin groans dramatically and pulls the blankets up to her chin.

"It's not like I'm forcing you to come with me or anything, I'm just driving the kids to the movies. Might stick around and watch it with them, don't know yet."

"So my Saturday options are either go home and be bored shitless, or go see a movie with you and the twerps."

"It's not my fault you don't have other friends."

"Stones and glass houses, Harrington. Which movie is it even?" 

"Something called The Goonies that Dustin demands we go see. Kids hunting pirates treasure, I don't know."

"Which means I'm taking my gay ass home to take a nice long bath and rethink all my life choices."

"I'll keep you in my prayers." He saunters off towards the bathroom.

"Can you drop me off? My car is in the Family Video parking lot!" She calls out after him.

"I don't know, Buckley, are you gonna survive the smell?"

"I'll hold my breath!"

*

"So who are we picking up?" Robin puts her feet up on the Beemer's dashboard like she's going to get away with that.

"First Max, then Dustin. Nancy is dropping off Will and El and Mike and Lucas, and after the movie Mrs. Byers picks up Will and El when her shift is over and I'm driving the rest home. Also feet down, you animal." He swats at her ankles.

"Wait. We're picking up Max? At her home?" 

"This is weird because?"

"Well, isn't Billy going to be there? He's home now, right?" 

Oh. Oh. And all of last night comes flooding back into Steve's brain. The weirdly emotional talk. Billy's breakdown. Inviting him home. Robin once again insisting that Billy's gay and Steve being so scared to accept the possibility because either way his heart might explode. Lying next to him on the couch and feeling both overwhelmingly normal and also like he'd stuck his fingers in a socket. All the dumb shit he'd said. Robin fucking _coming out,_ like it was okay to put Steve on the spot like that. Steve pussying out because even a damaged and tentatively nice Billy Hargrove still made him nervous.

And now he had to turn up at his house, sober and hungover and in the bright light of Saturday afternoon, and look him in the eye like Steve wasn't a wimp and a liar and stupidly into him. 

"Ah, fuck," he groans out. "Do I have time to turn back and go change my shirt?

Robin cackles all the way to Cherry road.

* 

“I still haven’t forgiven you for that whole “I’m a lesbian” stunt,” Steve grumbles and throws the car in park.

“And I haven’t forgiven you for wasting such a perfect opportunity. You could’ve just kissed him and I would have gladly given you the room.”

“I thought I made myself clear last night: it’s not that simple.”

“It wasn’t, and then my gaydar fucking screamed at me like a tea kettle and it all became very simple. That boy is queer as a three dollar bill and he’s waiting for you to plant a big, slobbery kiss right on his pretty lips. Yoo-hoo, Maxine darling!” Those last words are almost yodeled out the open window once the redhead appears at the front door. Robin gives an exaggerated wave. “Hurry up, sweetheart, uncle Stevie and I simply can’t _wait_ to drive you to the movies, it’s going to be absolutely _divine._ ” She lays on the horn before Steve can stop her and beeps it twice.

“Knock it off, you lunatic, what are you even doing?”

“Causing a scene, what’s it look like? Ah, see? There he is.” Robin sinks back in her seat with a satisfied grin. Billy steps out of the house directly behind Max and wanders towards the idling car on bare feet.

“You don’t need to walk me to the car, you know,” Max protests.

“Oh, haven’t you heard? Your friends are also my friends now.” Billy leans in through the driver’s side window. “Ain’t that right, Harrington? Buckley?” His eyes never leave Steve’s.

“Sure is, Hargrove.” They hold their gaze for way too long, then Steve lets his eyes wander down to Billy’s mouth for a split second. Damnit, Robin.

It’s maddening to know how little Billy thinks of himself. Steve can’t even look right at him for fear of going fucking blind.

“You’re all equally weird, that’s for sure.” Max rolls her eyes and hops in the back.

“Oh, young William.” Robin leans across from Steve, still running this weird routine that only she seems to get. “May I ask you a very important question?”

“You may.” Billy is still keeping his eyes fixed on Steve, with more and more amusement every passing moment. “You may also never call me William again.”

“Do you have any plans for New Year’s yet? Because Steve and I-” she elbows Steve in the chest, “-are inviting all the twerps over, and probably Nancy and Jonathan, and we’re gonna play dungeons and dragons in the basement, and the grownups will probably end up skinny dipping and smoking weed in the poolhouse, and blasting music to drown out the fucking fireworks. You in?”

“Yes!” Max whoops from the back seat.

“You had me at weed and nudity,” he grins. Jesus fucking Christ, always with the _tongue_. Steve grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “Dungeons and dragons, however... Not really my scene. I’ll sit that part out.”

“No can do, young William. I’ve already planned you in.” Robin smiles that smile she does when she knows she’s about to get her way.

“Wait, who’s running the game?” Max pipes up.

“Kiddo, I don’t exactly advertise this, but I have been playing dungeons and dragons since you and your squad were still in diapers. I’m the best dungeon master you’ve ever had, I promise you.”

“Double yes!”

Billy raises his eyebrows at Steve. “What about you, pretty boy? Are you playing?”

“As if I could hang out with these nerds and not play,” he groans. “Dustin made my character. I’m a fighter with a spiked metal bat, because he takes his inspiration from real life.”

“Cute,” Billy winks. “Okay, so what would I be?”

“A barbarian,” Robin answers without hesitation. “Most definitely.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Is that a yes?”  
“That’s a maybe.”

“Sounds an awful lot like a yes to me.”

“Jesus. You deal with that every day, Harrington?” He’s still smiling, though.

“I am hanging on to my sanity by my fingernails.”

“I can see why. Don’t let her influence my little sister too much, okay? I can’t deal with one of those in my own home.”

“You should be so lucky!” Robin yells back. Billy laughs.

“Yeah, yeah. Go watch your movie. See ya around, Harrington.” He thumps Steve on the shoulder and saunters back up to the house. Steve shakes his head to collect all five of his brain cells in the same corner of his skull and remembers how to drive.

“Thank you, Robin. You’re welcome, Stevie,” Robin mutters to herself with a smug face and plants her feet back on the dashboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer 1: because nobody seems to agree about the character's ages and since we don't have official birthdates for them, for my purpose Steve, Billy and Robin were all seniors together and all graduated at 18. So they are still 18 now.
> 
> Disclaimer 2: Billy is an Aries, Steve is a Taurus, Robin is a Virgo. Fight me on this.


	4. 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more digging around in the corpses of the past. Collisions and risky gestures.

The strangest thing about life is, it doesn’t give a shit about how you feel. It’s an odd thing to realize because you are always the main character in your own story, but life is a shared stage. Regardless of how hard you fall or how high you soar, nothing slows down for your sake. Are you still breathing? Kinda? Good, then we go on.

Billy learns this the hard way. In the days after he leaves the hospital, he has to play a continuous game of catch-up. Turns out the world didn’t actually stop turning. There isn’t an angry mob waiting for him around every corner, nobody stops him in the street. People do double takes, sure, but their eyes are mostly curious. Hawkins is still Hawkins and the people definitely still love to gossip, but these days everyone has their own tragedy. The story of What Ever Happened To Billy Hargrove has been buried under five months of breaking news and investigations and too many funerals.

He should be relieved. Instead, it puts him on edge. It gives him another secret to keep and he’s constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Max figures him out. She also knows better than to bring it up. When did the little tyke get so smart? She makes it her personal mission to get him out of the house, keeps him from holing up in his room with his thoughts spinning out of control. She makes him go into town with her to get groceries while Susan is at work, asks him to help her pick out comics at the store as if that is even close to Billy’s area of expertise, she even gets him to follow her into the nachos-and-armpit smell of the arcade and play a few rounds of Pac-Man with her when her nerd squad is absent. He’s pretty sure they’re not actually “busy” as Max insist. He suspects she’s ditching her friends to spend her free time with her trainwreck of a brother. It makes him glow with embarrassment and another, softer feeling he really doesn’t want to name.

They ride the bus together everywhere. Now that Billy doesn’t have a car, public transport is suddenly an annoying constant in his life. He hasn’t been on a bus since the morning of his sixteenth birthday, when he took all his savings down to the scuzzy used car dealership and the midnight blue of his baby caught his eye. 

He really should have his mind on other shit, like either one of his sixty-four different traumas, but getting on the goddamn bus made his palms sweat the first few times. Billy Hargrove doesn’t take the bus. He slid down in the vinyl chair with a scowl and glared at Max when she quietly poked fun at him. So maybe she doesn’t have him completely figured out. 

It’s not that he’s too cool to take the bus. Okay, it’s partly that. A year ago it definitely would have been that. Billy loves the status that comes with the Camaro. The flashy blue, the aggressive snarl of the engine, all the sharp lines that scream _look at me_ and _what the fuck are you looking at_ in equal measure. It is an essential part of his magic trick. Pay no attention to the fag behind the curtain.

The Camaro was his armor. He feels way too exposed on the bus. Max can roll her eyes at him all she wants and mumble _“now you’re a dork like the rest of us”_ , she won’t understand until she has a set of wheels of her own. More still than a part of his costume, the Camaro was freedom. She was the first thing that he ever owned that completely belonged to him. Bought with his own money from almost three years of saving. His name on all the paperwork. The one piece of the world that Neil Hargrove couldn’t touch.

The color was what sealed the deal for him. Billy knew he looks good in blue, for one, but mostly he loved how much his dad would hate it. It wasn’t a _manly_ color. The brightness of it was trying too hard. Everything about the Camaro was bold, but the color took it to a level that was just this side of queer. It was the biggest risk Billy had ever taken in his life up to that point. He knew he’d have to live up to a certain standard now, would have to carry himself like he was actually cool enough to drive a bright blue muscle car. Surely, an _actual_ fag would never dare to flaunt it with a car like _that_. 

He slid behind the wheel for the first time and as soon as she roared to life under him he fell in love.

The car was his most open act of defiance. More than the long hair or the earring or the obnoxiously tight jeans that broadcast _“what do you mean, underwear?”_ to everyone within a five mile radius. All of that could be explained away as a style choice, a kid living his rock star fantasy. But that fucking car drove Neil Hargrove up the walls. Seeing Billy behind the wheel, watching him pull out of the driveway with a lazy grin on his face, the rumble of the motor drowned out by his Metallica tape, refusing to break eye contact until he floored the gas and went screaming down the street to leave his dad in a cloud of dust. 

Billy pulled his leash. Billy got cocky. Billy tasted freedom in the warm California winds rushing in through his open windows and on the lips of every boy he kissed in the back seat. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise that when Neil finally had an excuse, he’d clip Billy’s wings down to the bone.

Relocating them to the goddamn Midwest had many advantages for Neil. First and foremost, it was too far away for Billy to realistically drive back out there. They both knew that anything closer than New Mexico, Billy would up and leave every fucking weekend, and damn the beatings he’d get. The thirty-two hour drive put Billy’s west coast life well and truly out of his reach, short of becoming an actual underage runaway. Which he seriously considered for a hot minute. Second, the fastest way to break a gay kid’s spirit was to drop him in the middle of fucking Indiana.

Neil’s cruelest trick, however, was how he took away the joy of driving the Camaro and turned Billy into a taxi driver for little Maxine. Back home in Cali, they lived within walking or skating distance of everything the twerp could want or need. But in Hawkins, he got stuck chauffeuring her around, their mutual resentment spilling out of them in waves and leaking into the upholstery. The car became another link in the chain that Neil had wrapped around his neck the day they left California.

He’d had to drive his baby out here, of course. Mile after agonizing mile, every turn of her wheels on the blacktop a kick to his freshly healed ribs, the stereo screaming as loud as it could go while he followed his dad’s jeep at a nice, subdued pace. Like a dog that finally learned to follow a lead.

He’d cried his way through most of Arizona. After that he went numb. Numb and angry.

He drove around Hawkins aimlessly whenever he had the chance, mostly screeching around corners like the pissed-off asshole he was, but sometimes he’d cruise around like he used to back home. Then he’d roll down his windows and the damp cold and the smell of cowshit reminded him of the state of his life and he’d crank the music up and go back to terrorizing the streets of his prison.

He found quiet places to park. Offered rides to a few of the high school girls who flocked to him, nearly salivating over the new kid. He drove them out to the quarry, or Lover’s Lake _(what the fuck, Indiana)_ , and he’d pull out his flask. Under the guise of getting them tipsy so they wouldn’t feel like they gave it up completely for free, he’d get himself drunk enough to lay back and tune out when they climbed on top of him in the back seat. He’d wrap his hands around all their soft curves and press his lips to their skin and try to remember being parked at the edge of the beach, dragging his tongue over hard abs, calloused fingers fumbling with his belt, kisses that could light up the whole fucking night sky.

He remembers driving Max home after their first day of school. She’d been late and his already short fuse had burned down to non-existent. He’s still not sure why he pushed the conversation to the point where he screamed at her to say whose fault it was that they were stuck here. He felt so cornered, he needed someone, anyone, to pick his side. To agree with him that it wasn’t Billy’s fault but Neil’s. But Max didn’t know the real story and Billy would swallow his own tongue before he’d tell her anything, so he backed himself into a corner and instead of saying _it wasn’t my fault_ he hit the gas.

He wouldn’t have run the kids over, obviously. But a fucked up part of him enjoyed that she thought he might and intervened. He liked it when she grabbed the wheel and yanked, her reckless energy a mirror of his own. The whole moment was alight with electricity, and it didn’t matter that she’d hate him for it. It was the closest he’d come in a long time to someone giving a shit about what he did.

When they came home, she all but ran from the car and slammed her bedroom door behind her. Billy locked his own door, cranked the stereo up to deafening, and jacked off to the pretty boy he’d seen across the parking lot that morning, getting out of a dark burgundy BMW. Which is where a whole other set of problems started.

Max impatiently elbows him in the side and his head snaps up. The bus has pulled up to the curb and the doors hiss open. He gets up and pushes her out in front of him, like he’s a good big brother who needs to keep an eye on his little sibling. Not at all like he wants her to lead because he feels exposed and nervous.

Since Starcourt is still a pile of rubble, they had to take a bus all the way out to the mall in Marigold to do their Christmas shopping. Max pulls him into an expensive smelling store to pick out a gift for Susan.

“She likes pink,” Max supplies as they rummage through a pile of silk scarves and attract dirty looks from the sales woman.

“She has at least four pink scarves already.”

“Valid point.” She holds up a sunshine yellow one with a design of blue and green peacock feathers. “This one?”

“Urgh.”

“Okay, fine!” She throws her hands up. “You pick, then. Which color do you like?”

“Blue.”

“Me too.”

“So pick a blue one.”

“Help me look, then!”

They bicker over scarves until they agree on one in different shades of blue that makes it look like a cresting wave. On an impulse Billy grabs a pair of silver and blue dangly earrings. Susan hardly ever wears jewelry apart from little gold studs in her ears and her wedding ring. Neil hated big jewelry. Max adds the matching necklace and gives a firm nod.

They pool their money together and get the whole thing gift-wrapped. Max shoves it into her backpack and points to her watch.

“One hour.” She’s already halfway to the next store. “I do my shopping, you do yours, and we meet back here at four.”

“A whole _hour_?” Billy huffs. “How many gifts do you need?”

“I can’t help it that I’m popular.”

*

In hindsight, Billy could have used more time because he’s wasting plenty second-guessing himself. He walks through the electronics store, the rest of his savings from last summer burning a hole in his pocket. He knows he wants to get Max a walkman, but picking one out suddenly becomes a very important task. He eventually settles on the silver Sony, one of the pricier ones and way better than the old beat up one he has at home. Maybe she’ll let him borrow it…

He hits the music store after, thumbs through the bargain bin for some of that pop bullshit she likes. He already has two tapes picked out when he stumbles across KISS - Rock And Roll Over. Perfect. He goes over to the register with three tapes and hides them in the pocket of his leather jacket.

Technically that would be his Christmas shopping done, but Billy finds himself wandering the rest of the mall, chewing at his fingernails and rolling the same question around and around in his head. _Should he buy Steve Harrington a Christmas present?_

It’s not like they’re friends. He... Well, they’re definitely trying. On their way there, maybe. Kinda. Hopefully. Billy got invited to celebrate New Year’s at Steve’s place, but they haven’t hung out or talked since. Getting him a gift would probably be too much. Unless Steve gets him something, because he definitely seems like the type. So should he get him something? And what is an appropriate gift that’s not cheap or boring but also doesn’t scream _I’ve been in love with you for over a year and it’s getting really hard to hide it and I don’t even know if you’re gay and if you’re not gay I’m not sure if I’d be cool with just being friends because I really fucking need a friend but also being around you without kissing you is the most painful thing I’ve ever had to do and that includes almost dying._

He circles back to the music store, flicks aimlessly through piles of records and tapes. Realizes he doesn’t know enough about Steve’s taste in music and which albums he already has. He finds the Fleetwood Mac tape they played that night and pockets it before he makes the conscious decision.

They keep the blank tapes at the register so he picks up a few and slides the kid exact change. Just as a cover for the stolen tape in his pocket, of course. It’s not like he’s going to make Steve Harrington a mixtape like some lovesick girl.

It’s after four when he finally makes his way back to the meeting point, but Max is also late. He spots her at the register of the comics store, arms full of precariously balanced packages.

“Don’t look, asshole!” she screeches when she spots him coming over to help her carry her haul.

“Jesus, alright, carry your own shit.” He crosses his arms and turns around while she struggles to pull out her wallet. “Did you seriously get me something from the nerd store?”

“You’ll have to wait until Christmas eve, or you’re getting nothing but coal.” She taps at his boot with the toe of her sneaker. “Little help?”

“Oh sure, now she wants help.” He takes the top of the pile off her hands and tries to get a glimpse of his gift before she shoves it into a bag and shoots him a murderous look.

“So what did you get Lucas?” he sing-songs at her as they shuffle onto the bus back to Hawkins.

“None of your goddamn business.” Her ears turn pink.

“Is it something romaaaaantic?”

“Knock it off, Billy.”

“Oh Maxine, you’re blushing!”

“You are such an ass!”

All in all it’s not a bad forty minute ride back home.

____________________________________

It’s a twenty minute drive home from doctor Donnelly’s office, which gives Steve plenty of time to think. He settles into his seat and lets the beemer purr away. He’s not in a hurry today.

He should probably go pick up Robin. Tell her the big news, break into his dad’s liquor cabinet, have a party.

Steve Harrington just came out.

Well... Kinda. He thinks. Does it count if the person you tell is a doctor who is bound by oath to keep your secrets and you pay them to listen? Steve would argue it counts. His heart still feels unsteady from working up the courage to blurt out “I think I like boys. Or at least one boy. This one boy, I definitely like. I still like girls, too, and according to my friend it’s called bisexual, and I’ve been... sorta coming to grips with that. Thinking about who I should tell. What I should do. And considering if... if maybe this boy likes me too.”

He’d said it all out loud and the sky hadn’t come crashing down, which still surprised him on a certain level. The doc was a pro, though. Her face stayed soft and she kept him talking with gentle questions.

He ends up telling her about a lot of his earliest memories of Billy, without ever mentioning his name. He tells her about this asshole he went to school with, how they got competitive with each other, how they traded punches and Steve got his ass kicked. How his hatred got interwoven with fascination, how he developed a sixth sense that constantly kept him aware of this guy’s presence. How they both seemed to light up when they got under the other one’s skin. How infuriatingly magnetic this douchebag was. 

He doesn’t go into detail, but he tells the doc that this guy had some bad shit happen to him because of Starcourt, and it messed him up but also... not? Because two weeks ago Steve talked to him for the first time since the incident and it went super crazy but also way better than he could have hoped and now they’re maybe going to be friends. Which is huge. And also a huge problem because Steve has a crush the size of the fucking moon on this dude.

“And so when you talked to him two weeks ago,” the doc asks, “was that when you realized this crush?”

“No,” Steve sighs, “no, I told my friend about it during Halloween. That was the first time I ever admitted it out loud.”

“But when was the first time you knew for yourself?”

Steve opens his mouth a few times. Hesitates. And he tells her about the graduation party.

It had been total fucking carnage. There were cars parked down in the quarry from the edge of the water all the way up the road. Music spilled out of every open window. Bottles and cans were passed around, and suddenly everyone seemed to have weed on them. A huge bonfire threw long, writhing shadows on the canyon walls as if the seniors of Hawkins really were the immortal giant demigods they saw themselves as.

Steve was sulking on the outskirts of the party. He had received his final rejection letter that morning, because of course it had to arrive on one of those rare days when his parents were home. He’d gotten an earful from his dad for over two hours, and the conclusion had been that Steve would start by getting a job and learn to appreciate the value of a good education. He’d have to work some bullshit minimum wage job until his dad considered his punishment complete, and then he’d make Steve go to college anyway.

He’d spent the rest of the day filling out application forms for the new mall. God, he hoped they wouldn’t pick him for the food court, he really didn’t want to wear one of those goofy uniforms.

At some point, a very drunk Billy Hargrove had come stumbling through the rows of parked cars, looking for a place to piss. He hadn’t spotted Steve in the shadows by the wall. Billy hummed to himself, fumbled with his zipper, turned around a few times. His gaze eventually focused on the dark red BMW and he took a few steps forward. He leaned his right hand against the roof.

“You fucking try it, Hargrove, and I swear they’ll find you floating in the quarry by morning.”

Billy spun around and his face split into an all-teeth grin. “Heyyyy, there he is! Stevie Harrington himself. How’s it hanging, king Steve?”

“Stop calling me that, asshole.”

“Oh, right. I took that from you, didn’t I? Your crown, your throne, the key to all of Hawkins-fucking-High.” He giggled like it was the funniest thing.

“As if I still give a fuck. But if you piss on my car, I swear to God I’ll make you regret it. I owe you a few black eyes anyway, so by all means, give me an excuse.”

“Oh, are you gonna fight me, king Steve? Because that worked out so great for you last time.” Billy sauntered over, an unsettling glimmer in his blue eyes. For as drunk as he was, his eyes suddenly seemed very sharp and focused. He moved his hands down and Steve’s gaze followed, then reflexively shot back up. The maniac was still undoing his belt and zipper. “Are you that eager to get under me again?”

“That depends, are we gonna cuddle after?”

Billy threw his head back in laughter. He picked a spot not three feet away from Steve and pulled himself out of his jeans. Steve held the eye contact, tried to not even blink while Billy took a leak and stared at him like he was having a grand old time.

“See? You can be fun if you try, King Steve. Why do you always make me push all your buttons before you get fun?”

“Hargrove, no one makes you do anything. You’re doing a great job of being an asshole without anyone’s help.”

“At least I’m good at something.” Billy zipped his pants back up but instead of leaving he leaned against the cliffside next to Steve. The eye contact was getting to be a bit much, so now that he’d put his dick away Steve could safely let his eyes wander again. He chose a spot across the water, like he could care less what Billy did.

“You know what we should do, Harrington? Break into the school and play one last game of basketball, just you and me, a one on one between the kings. Practice got boring as shit after you left, pussy.”

“Yeah, thanks but no thanks.”

“I promise I’ll be gentle.” Steve still wasn’t looking, so he was caught off guard when Billy suddenly leaned all the way in. Steve raised a hand in defense but the swing never came, Billy just hovered over him like an oppressive, thousand-degree shadow. The hand Steve had raised caught him right in the center of his chest. Jesus, was it really necessary to radiate that much heat? Did he eat the glowing embers from the bonfire or something? Billy leaned heavy into Steve’s palm, gave him so much of his weight that Steve had to strain his shoulder to keep him at a distance.

“Fair warning, I’m gonna step away and drop you.”

“Nah, you won’t.”

“You willing to bet your teeth on that?” Billy giggled again and finally moved his weight back from Steve, , only to reach out and grab his face by the chin. Steve froze, and for one wild moment he thought Billy Hargrove was going to kiss him.

“I’m going to miss you, pretty boy.” His voice was low and warm, like there was an actual fire burning somewhere in him. Steve felt the flames licking at his face from where Billy grabbed him, felt the flush creep over his skin until he blushed all the way up to his ears. Then the heat shot straight down. They locked eyes and the moment dragged on, and somewhere in the middle Steve fell through the looking-glass and went from wondering if Billy was going to kiss him to wishing he would.

Then Billy pulled back and tapped Steve on the cheek, way harder than necessary.

“I’ll miss the fights most of all. Always like it when they go down easy.” Then he turned on his heel and strolled back into the direction of the fire. Steve was left alone in the shadow feeling like he’d been sunburned from the inside out and with a very confusing warmth pooling low in his stomach.

He didn’t tell doctor Donnelly that he’d gone home shortly after, and that night had been the first time he’d ever jacked off to Billy Hargrove. Or any boy for that matter. And he had immediately filed it all away under NOPE and shoved that whole box somewhere in the back of his brain and tried his damndest to forget it ever happened. Which got significantly more difficult after he had to drop the kids off at the public pool and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of the fucker perched atop the lifeguard chair in nothing but sunglasses and tiny red swim trunks, slipping the whistle between his lips in a move that was positively illegal with so many people around. So he jacked off to Billy Hargrove twice before he admitted to having a crush. Maybe three times. Also dreams don’t count.

After the story, the doc had given him one of those all-knowing smiles that made her look like a wise cat, and asked him what he wanted to do about it, because it sure sounded like they had a lot of unresolved issues talk about.

“I want... “ Steve had hesitated. What did he want? Besides knowing what his mouth would feel like on his. “I want to give him something for Christmas.”

He takes a right once he hits Hawkins main and pulls into the Family Video parking lot. Robin is on shift for another hour.

“I know you love your job, dingus, but today is actually your day off,” she greets him as he walks through the door.

“I need your help with something.”

“And this something couldn’t wait until tonight? You know I’m coming over with pizza and Star Wars, right?”

“It’s urgent, I need to get it out before I start obsessing. It’s about Billy.”

“Should’ve lead with that." She hops onto the counter. "If it’s for the good of the greatest gay love story of our generation, I’m all in. What do you need?”

“I need you to stop me from making a big, emotional, risky gesture.”

“I will most definitely help you make your big, emotional, risky gesture.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello I'm not dead! I had a tournament followed immediately by a family trip so I kinda fell off the internet for two weeks. But I'm back, and after I upload this I'll get right back to replying to all your sweet comments because I'm an idiot who doesn't deserve you. All my love, and more. <3


	5. 5.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy Hargrove's Christmas miracle, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter, because it was so hard to write, for various reasons. But I wanted to get another chapter out to you guys ASAP, so here it is and I hope y'all enjoy reading about Christmas in the middle of August. <3

It snows on Christmas eve. It almost feels too idyllic, the outside world going all white and quiet, the tree decorated with mismatched glass figurines and an all but sarcastic amount of string lights, the smell of pumpkin pie and cinnamon so thick in the air Billy feels he could eat it with a spoon, and the endless stream of Christmas classics Max insists on blasting through the living room stereo.

She’s singing along with all the dramatic flair she can muster, dances around the kitchen while waving her dishtowel all around. They’re on dishes, he washes and she dries, while Susan gets the living room organized to exchange gifts. Which is why Billy stubbornly refuses to sing along because if he opens his mouth he might puke. There’s two letters burning holes in the back pocket of his jeans, one addressed to each of them. Now he has to work up the courage to actually hand them over.

His hands shake so much that he has to put a wine glass back in the soapy water before he drops it or snaps the stem.

By the time they’ve finished cleaning up, his mind is a continuous stream of _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_. Susan has turned the volume down on the carols, which means that Billy can now actually hear the thumping of his heart over a soft rendition of _O Come All Ye Faithful_. Max is bouncing on the sofa, more of a child than he’s seen her in a long time. Or maybe the wiggling and grinning and starry eyes make her seem so much younger because when Billy was her age he’d already had a lot of that smacked out of him. Who knows. Dear Christ he’s actually gonna vomit.

Max hands over their present to her mom. “From both of us,” she adds. Billy nods, his jaw working around as he tries to consciously unclench his teeth. Susan tears up as soon as she gets the wrapping paper off and pulls Max in one of those too-tight hugs. Then she turns to Billy and he panics. She must read it on his face, because after a moment of hesitation, she only gently squeezes his shoulder and leans into him for barely a second. Billy feels his face heat up in shame. _Coward_. He rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans.

Susan gives Max a jewellery box and two new sweaters, but the walkman and the three tapes steal the show. She actually screams, and unlike her mom Max has no qualms about launching herself straight into Billy’s arms and shrieking “thankyouthankyouthankyou” right in his ear. Thank God he’s at least gotten used to her generous approach to showing affection, and hugging Max is something he can actually do now.

Then Susan gets up again and pulls two bright green presents with overly festive massive red bows out from under the tree. A little tentative she places them next to Billy on the couch. _She’s still nervous around you_. The big box contains a down comforter, big enough that he can completely wrap himself in it. The smaller box is surprisingly heavy and turns out to be filled with books. And no second-hand paperbacks or bargain bin copies either, but brand new shiny volumes. He strokes the spines. _Bright Lights Big City, The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe, Less Than Zero_... He can’t hold in a strangled gasp when he sees _The Fellowship Of The Ring_. His copy got wrecked beyond repair years ago, that one time when he didn’t stop reading while Neil was talking. He didn’t think Susan remembered.

“You always loved to read.” Her smile is timid but real. “I got a bit of everything but I remembered you liked Tolkien.” Billy nods like he’s suddenly mute and stares at the book until his vision goes blurry. He knows he should say something, get up, hug her, but he feels like he’s fucking nailed to the couch. Underneath the nervous prickling heat racing across his skin, his blood has turned to ice. He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s about three breaths away from a panic attack and starts counting in his head, rhythmically rubs his hands over his thighs, tries to ground himself in the rough drag of denim across skin. _You’ll never be out of there. Not really. Wherever you go, it follows._

It’s true and he knows it. He’ll always be trapped, not just in the Upside Down, but way further back as well. A cage made from the first time his dad’s palm cracked across his face to that last tentacle ripping through him. Billy Hargrove will always be made of rage and agony and bloodstained teeth. They try to wrap him in softness and it only makes his fucked up edges stand out more. He can’t tell them, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t let them know, they will kick him out if they know what a liability he really is. Everyone keeps telling him that the gate is closed, that the thing can’t get to him, that he’s safe. He also knows that that’s the same lie they told Will Byers for a whole year.

If the monster is really gone, then why does he still hear that voice in his head?

_Because I’m you._

“It’s okay.” He opens his eyes. The tears at the edge of his lashes fracture all the lights on the tree into little stars. Susan has crouched down in front of him and gently reaches a hand towards his still twitching fingers. “It’s alright, Billy.” She pats his hand. He lets her but also doesn’t respond.

Max shoves two presents into his lap. She smiles at him but her eyes are tense. Billy wraps his fingers around the gifts, the bottom one is most definitely a book, but the top one is harder to place. It looks like a ball of discarded wrapping paper and tape at first glance, but when he picks it up something rattles inside. The book turns out to be a thick volume of collected comics. The cover spells out WATCHMEN across an image of a smiley face with a drop of blood splattered over it. It looks vaguely familiar.

“It’s really good,” Max mutters, like Billy’s lack of response makes her unsure. “Dustin and Lucas are obsessed with it. So don’t let them know you have the collection or they’ll break in and steal it.” That finally coaxes a wet chuckle out of him as he picks up the second gift. It’s not easy to break into Max’s rubik’s cube of tape, but when he finally tears through the paper and shakes it, a handful of bright blue plastic chunks come rolling out.

“They’re nothing special,” she immediately starts rambling again. “They’re the cheap ones they sell at the register of the comics store, but I figured if you’re gonna play with us on New Year’s you’ll need a set, and it’s more fun to use your own than to have to borrow from someone else, especially because all the guys are ridiculously superstitious. And- and also I thought that maybe if you liked it you could play with us again, you know.” It’s then that it clicks that the odd shaped things are dice, like the ones Max has been leaving all over the house since she started playing D&D last year. And there’s no more stopping the tears now, nor is Max prepared for the bone-crushing hug. She yelps in surprise before he feels her skinny arms snake around him and give back as good as she gets.

It’s not his best look, trying to hide his tear-streaked face in the sweater of his teeny-bopper sister, but Billy finds it hard to care when he’s genuinely vibrating with emotions. Because Max wants him around, and she wants to share one of her favorite things with him. Because she got him a silly gift that actually means a lot to her. Because the casual way Max plans for a future where Billy is her brother and they do actual sibling stuff together like it’s the most natural thing in the world, squeezes his heart. But in a good way.

“I have something else,” he croaks out. Now. Right the fuck now, damnit, before he loses his nerve. He pulls the crumpled letters out his back pocket and shoves them at the two of them. Susan looks surprised.

“You know you don’t have to until you’re-”

“It’s cool. I’m ready.”

“You sure?” Max asks with raised eyebrows.

“No. But I need to be.” So he sits back and folds his arms across his chest and watches as they both oh so carefully open their letters and fish out the pages. He knows them by heart, went over them time and time again. He wrote them over the course of several months, adding to them and scratching parts out again. Nearly every paragraph is done with a different pen and sometimes his handwriting got halfway illegible which makes the end result look even more like the diary of a madman. He considered copying them onto fresh sheets, but he knew he’d never stop editing then, so he just decided _fuck it._

> _Hey Max,_
> 
> _I’m writing you this letter as part of my therapy because the doc tells me that it’s gonna be easier to get it all down on paper instead of telling you this in person. Which is probably true. Actually talking to people, saying shit that’s real and important, is a skill I haven’t used in a good long while. But even writing it down is still hard. I don’t know where to begin. ~~My hand already fucking hurts. Hope you can read this, I’m shaking like hell.~~_
> 
> _I’m sorry. That’s the gist of it, I guess. I’m sorry for being a terrible brother. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not proud of, but there’s NO EXCUSE for treating you the way I did. You were a kid and I was angry for a million different reasons and none of them were your fault. I couldn’t deal with having a new family forced on me, and you suddenly becoming my ~~step~~ sister made me very aware of how fucking alone I really was. You and your mom, you were hand-picked by Neil, the family he wanted. I’m the one he was stuck with, the one he didn’t want, and there would never be room for me in this new unit because I’d never fit the mold. ~~You didn’t do anything wrong but I was so angry and if you were there my mom would definitely never come back and~~_
> 
> ~~_I shouldn’t be doing this at night but I just woke up from another nightmare and I remembered when I came to in recovery you were there and I never said thank you for that_ ~~
> 
> _I’m sorry for walking away from you and not even giving you a chance. Being your brother wasn’t easy, but I also never really tried. You set the bar so unbelievably high, road warrior. ~~You’ll never understand how j~~ You’ll never understand how fucking jealous I was of you._
> 
> _I’m sorry for using you as an emotional punching bag because I couldn’t handle my own shit and I thought you were an easy target because you were small which meant you were weak. YOU’RE NOT. You’re so much stronger than I’ll ever be. Picking on you and fighting with you never made me feel any better because you never cracked. No matter what I did to you, you never turned bad like me. You were always a good kid, and you quickly got too smart to let me goad you._
> 
> _But you did push back. Even when I scared you, you stood up to me. And I’m sorry for that too, but I’m also happy that you have that fire in you. You handle it way better than me._
> 
> ~~_You’re so strong because you are loved. No one will ever break you. I tried so hard but your bones are fucking steel, Mad Max. I’ll never have that. I didn’t want you to have it. Jesus, I’m loathsome. No wonder I got_ ~~
> 
> _There’s no excuse for this, but please know that I am sorry for all the times I actually hurt you. Whether it was grabbing you too hard or shoving you, or breaking your board, or every time I said something mean and could see on your face that it landed. Because I should fucking know better. I should want to be better. I’m not like him, I swear I’m not._
> 
> _Hey Max, I know we talked about this in therapy today, but I’m gonna say it again. I’m sorry for everything that happened this summer. You keep telling me it’s not my fault but you need to let me say it again. Because they were my hands, it was my body, my voice, but I need you to know that it wasn’t me. And you keep saying that you know, but maybe I need to know too. And sorry is too small a word for how I feel._
> 
> ~~_Max I need to tell you about_ ~~
> 
> _Hey Max, I’m coming home tomorrow. I know we’ve been talking about this for a while but I sort of expected it to never happen. Meaning I didn’t think you and Susan would let me come back. ~~Because why would you? You don’t owe me. You sure as fuck don’t need me.~~ I was waiting for someone to pull out, to maybe get news that you moved back to Cali without me. But the day is actually here, my bags are packed and I’m getting discharged tomorrow and I saw you and Susan an hour ago and you said that you’ll pick me up at 10. So I’m coming home. Which is more than I deserve. If you can trust me again, I’d like to start over. We were told years ago that we were a family now, but I want to actually try this time. If you’ll still have me, I’d like a second chance to be your brother._
> 
> _Billy_

> _Hey Susan,_
> 
> _I know you never asked for this. You wanted a family and what you got was a lot of screaming and fighting and a shithead stepson who called you every name in the book and eventually forced you to move to the other side of the country. We didn’t exactly get along these past few years and that’s 99% my fault for refusing to let you within five feet of me. I have no excuse for the way I behaved, only a sob story about my mom leaving when I was seven and my dad ~~being a nasty, violent, abusive piece of shit who may or may not have passed his bullshit down to me so I could in turn be an asshole to your daughter~~ beating me._
> 
> _I know you married Neil so you must have loved him. So I’m sorry for what happened to him, ~~even if I~~_
> 
> _I’m just sorry. And tired._
> 
> ~~_Did you know? I know you knew he hit me, but did you ever know how bad it was? Did he ever tell you why? Because I still don’t know._ ~~
> 
> _Did he ever tell you the real reason we left Cali? Maybe ask me about that some time, just not yet. I’m not ready to tell that story. I hope I will be some day._
> 
> _Every time you visit me in the hospital, you talk about me coming home. And every time it sends me into a tailspin. Because I’m afraid to get my hopes up. My mom is gone and my dad’s dead. I’m eighteen. You are in no way obligated to take me back, and I have given you very few reasons to do so. So I can’t help but fear that you’ll come to your senses, or I’ll just fuck up again and get left behind. ~~Honestly, no one would blame you.~~_
> 
> _I have no right to ask you for anything, I know that. I took every chance you ever gave me and threw it back at you as hard and as mean as I could. ~~But I want to~~_
> 
> ~~_I would like to ask you_ ~~
> 
> ~~_I haven’t had a mom since_ ~~
> 
> _I want to come home. I want it to be a home. I have no idea how to actually be a functional part of a family but Max is trying really hard to teach me. She leads by example. I have no idea what she thinks she sees in me, but she refuses to give up on me. And for some reason you seem to do the same. ~~Please don’t take me in out of pity or a sense of obligation, I don’t want~~_
> 
> _I know I’ve been trouble. I probably will be again, because I haven’t gotten any less messed up. But I’m trying now. If you’ll let me come home and take me into your family, I promise I’ll do everything I can to be worth the trouble. Because I really want to be there._
> 
> _Billy_

He watches them tensely as they read. He follows every movement of their eyes, every gasp, every time they briefly squeeze their eyes shut. He almost snatches the pages from Max’s hand when she holds them up to the light to read the scratched out bits because of-fucking-course, goddamnit Maxine Mayfield, he knows he should have made clean copies.

By the time Max gets to the end of her letter she has tears dripping from her chin. She folds the pages back into the envelop, rubs both hands over her wet face, then socks him in the shoulder.

“You absolute jackass. If I’ll still have you, he says. We’ve been over this, fuckhead. You’re my brother, end of discussion.” She slams her face into his shoulder and he pulls her close, right over the spot where his heartbeat is hammering against his chest.

He looks over at Susan, who is also looking positively distraught. Well, shit. It would appear that he ruined another Christmas. He really needs to say something now.

“I-”

“You’re my son,” she interrupts. “I don’t care what anyone says, Max and I are your family. You will have a place here for as long as you want.” She stands up and opens her arms, a gentle but firm command that he hasn’t seen in over a decade. He untangles himself from Max and falls into the embrace like diving into summer waves. It’s hauntingly familiar and also completely new, to be held like this by a mother. In the hurt and the tears, he feels the healing.

“What Neil did to you... You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. I should have tried harder to intervene.” Billy pulls away and rubs at his eyes, needing to see her face for this.

“Did he ever hit you?” Her eyes immediately dart over to Max on the couch, then down at the floor. It’s all he needs for a reply. Billy feels the sudden urge to go fight a dead man.

“ _Mom_.” Max sounds more mad than upset.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Susan straightens her back. “It’s in the past. All of it.” Max gets up and wiggles herself in the middle of the embrace. It’s a tight little circle and everyone is sniffling and Billy hasn’t felt this safe in years. Like he belongs.

It’s then that they’re interrupted by the doorbell.

“On Christmas Eve? At this hour?” Susan wipes away tears and leaves streaks of mascara everywhere.

“Do you think it’s carol singers?” Max asks, already halfway to the front door.

“Not on this street, if they’re smart,” Billy mumbles. He hears the door open and catches a few surprised sounds and a muffled conversation. She comes back, looking more than a little puzzled.

“Um... Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley are out there, and they’re looking for Billy. And they brought a... Well, maybe you should go see for yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter obviously isn't finished. I had a lot more planned for this one, but then it kinda got away from me and the letters especially took a lot outta me, so if I'd added in everything else I wanted for this one it would've taken about three days longer. So I'm leaving y'all hanging on this cliff, and if you want to blame someone you can go yell at greekdemigod, because she doesn't want me to spend her entire birthday party tomorrow on my phone trying to finish my gay fanfiction in the middle of a pride festival. Which I would consider very fitting, actually. But maybe a little antisocial. Also she's the one who said it would be a good cliffhanger. So literally all her fault. I have no agency.  
> Expect part 2 of the Christmas miracle by Tuesday or so. Love you 3000 <3


	6. 6.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy Hargrove's Christmas miracle, part 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY PRIDE AND JOY, MY BESTGIRL, MY ACTUAL ROBIN. I WROTE YOU GAY CHRISTMAS SHIT IN AUGUST. ENJOY. <3  
> And to anyone who is not @greekdemigod, also enjoy. <3

“I’ve changed my mind. It’s too much.” Steve squeezes his hands around the steering wheel of the beemer until his knuckles stand out as white as the snow that tries to stick to the windshield.

“It’s definitely too much,” Robin giggles from her spot in the passenger seat, slid down low and looking like a mischievous pixie with the way only her eyes peek out between her wool hat and matching scarf. He doesn’t need to see the rest of her face to know she’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Could you maybe _try_ to not openly enjoy my misery?”

“But your misery is the best part of my day. I love watching you struggle your way through your first gay crush and figuring out how to woo your man. It’s adorable. I should write a play about this. Or maybe a musical.” She pulls her scarf down and sings, completely off key, _“The hills are alive with the sound of panicked screaming.”_

“Knock it off, it’s not funny.”

“I take major offense, Harrington, I am always funny. My entire personality is witty sidekick.”

“ _Robin.”_

_“Steve.”_

“I am so not playing along. This is too much, he’s gonna think I’m nuts. Let’s forget it and blow the whole thing off.”

“You were the one who wanted to make a big, emotional, risky gesture.”

“And you were supposed to stop me.”

“Yeah, I think you’re confusing me with your other gay best friend.” She twists around in her seat and pokes him in the shoulder. “Calm down. It’s a great gift. Thoughtful. Sweet. Completely too much and absolutely bonkers. It’s perfect. Don’t forget that this was your idea, dude.”

“I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking about a boy you like, and how you can make him happy.” She pokes him again. “It’s sweet, dingus. It’s completely too much because that’s how you are around people you genuinely care about. For as much as a phony asshole you were in high school, there’s no bullshit left in you now. You’re generous and over-the-top and you want people to know that you care about them. Or am I wrong and is it all for show? The constant babysitting, driving the kids around wherever they want to go, hosting their D&D nights, having me over literally all the time?”

“Stop trying to make me sound like some kind of martyr. All that shit is just as much for my own benefit.” _Because I’m a lonely loser whose parents didn’t even come home for Christmas,_ he wants to add.

“Yeah, but that’s sort of my point. It’s not a sacrifice. You enjoy it. You get something out of being there for the important people in your life and you _love_ being too much. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that birthday party you threw for Dustin. You spent two weeks planning that.”

“That’s different. It’s _Dustin._ He’s basically my brother. Billy is-”

“-the hot asshole who awakened your bisexuality with his abs and his attitude and his fuck me-eyes, who was inaccessible until he got violently traumatized, and who is turning out to be completely your type, bla bla bla, we’ve been over this. You like him. Go do something about it. Doing a nice thing for him is a great first step.” She turns back to face the front. “And by the way, you took actual time off work to get this insane plan of yours done in time for Christmas Eve. If you chicken out now I will never stop tormenting you, and you know it.”

They drive on in silence, which gives Steve the time to run through the entire thought process that lead him here, driving to the Mayfield-Hargrove house through heavy snow. The initial spark had probably been a phone conversation with Max about a week ago, the day before his therapy session. He regularly checked in with all the kids, casually radioing them or giving them a call, but Max seemed to be the only one who understood what he was doing. That it was his weird parental streak kicking in and he needed to know all his children were okay.

“How’s Billy?” he asked after a bit, trying not to sound too eager.

“About as well as can be expected,” she sighed. Her voice was tired. “I get him out of the house as much as I can so he doesn’t become a paranoid recluse. I can tell that it’s hard but he pushes himself through. It’s still difficult to get him to talk outside of the therapist’s office. And he’s still angry and stubborn and he wants to do everything himself, but that might just be his personality. Can’t blame the Upside Down for everything.”

“True.” 

“But at least he doesn’t walk around like he’s itching for a fight anymore. In fact, he’s really trying to be better around people. Night time is the hardest, he still has nightmares pretty much all the time. I hear him thrashing around and mumbling but he never wakes up. He seems to calm down when I talk to him or hold his hand, so most nights when he wakes me up I just move and sleep in his room. I have a mattress and a blanket on the floor by his bed that we both pretend isn’t there during the day.” Steve laughed at that, which in turn made Max giggle.

“I know, classic big badass Billy Hargrove, right? Um, and beyond that... I guess he works out a lot. He goes for runs early in the morning and he’s back to pumping weights. Pretty sure that’s a good sign. I’ll let you know when he gets back to peacocking in front of the mirror.”

_Oh, please don’t let me know,_ Steve thought, _I really don’t need that image in my head. Billy staring at himself in the mirror after a workout, skin flushed and slick with sweat, tracing the lines of his own abs, lower, lower..._ Steve wound the telephone cord around his index finger until it painfully cut off all circulation. _Sweet Jesus._

“And he’s in the garage a lot,” Max added, dragging Steve back to the conversation. “I think he’s trying to work on his Camaro, but it doesn’t look like he’s making much headway. I know he doesn’t want to scrap her, but there’s no way he’s gonna get her running again banging away at it in our garage with Neil’s old toolbox.” She sighed. “Pity. He loved that car. In like a weirdly personal way. I heard him throw shit around in there the other day and every time he comes in from messing with it he’s looking more frustrated. And sad, too.”

A day later, when doctor Donnelly asked him what he wanted to do about his _situation_ with Billy, Steve had remembered that conversation. The image had stuck with him: Billy trying to fix something that meant a lot to him and failing, trying to erase all those dents that were another painful physical reminder of last summer. _(Dents that Steve had put there when he plowed a stolen yellow convertible into the side of the Camaro to keep a possessed Billy from running over Nancy and the rest. Which he also didn’t tell the doc about because that was one Freudian analysis he did not need.)_ He had thought about the Camaro pulling up into the high school parking lot that first morning. Steve remembered staring at both the car and the driver and feeling like he’d just lost an argument he didn’t know he was in.

Billy wanted to fix his car. Billy couldn’t fix his car on his own. Steve wanted to do something nice for Billy. Something that mattered. Something to show that Steve cared about this boy who had somehow crawled out from under the rubble of a fucked up life.

They pull up in front of the house when they see the lights of the tow truck flashing behind them.

“Tom’s here. Showtime.” Robin gets out and waves at the guy driving the truck. Steve follows her, only dropping his keys once. _Get it together, chicken._

“Hi, Robin, merry Christmas. This the place?” Tom jerks his thumb in the direction of the house.

“Merry Christmas, Tom. Yeah it is, the car’s in the garage, but like we said, it’s a surprise so Steve here will have some explaining to do first. You can wait here until we get everything sorted.”

“Will do.” He fishes a cigarette and a lighter out of his breast pocket. Steve immediately joneses for a nicotine fix. His hands actually start shaking.

“Hi Tom, thanks again for coming out here tonight.”

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good Christmas miracle.” He grins around a mouthful of smoke. “And you tipped in advance. Now get moving, I promised the wife I’d get this done in two hours tops.”

Steve and Robin walk up to the front door, snowflakes sticking to their hair and speckling their coats white on their short walk. They look like a cheesy holiday card by the time Steve rings the doorbell.

“Good evening, ma’am, can Billy _come out_ and play?” Robin mumbles under her breath.

_“I will strangle you with your scarf,”_ Steve hisses back. The door swings open.

_“Steve?”_

“Hey Max.” Her eyes are red and her face is puffy from crying, he registers immediately, but she doesn’t appear to be upset.

“What are you- why is there a _tow truck_ in our driveway?”

“It’s a little hard to explain. We’re actually here for Billy.”

“It’s his Christmas gift!” Robin adds gleefully. After a beat or two Max seems to connect the dots and she nods slowly.

“Oh. Okay. I’ll go get him.”

* * *

“Um... Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley are out there, and they’re looking for Billy. And they brought a... Well, maybe you should go see for yourself.” The absolute improbability of that particular sentence means Billy is on his feet and by the front door before the nerves have time to settle into his stomach. Although he does feel all his organs do a weird flip when Max moves out of the way and he gets suckerpunched by those dark doe eyes.

Robin bounces on her toes and grins at him with so much delight he’s instantly suspicious. Steve, on the other hand, looks more nervous than Billy has ever seen him, chewing at his bottom lip, back ramrod-straight, every line in his face tense. But he’s also wearing the coat Billy borrowed that one time and his hair keeps swooping down and there are snowflakes balanced on the edges of his eyelashes and Billy can’t help but think _God he’s pretty._

He wants to say _Merry Christmas._ He opens his mouth and it comes out as a hoarse “What are you two doing here?” Smooth as a Hawkins back road, Hargrove.

“We, um... It’s just- I, Robin and I... We have something for you,” Steve manages to get out. Robin rolls her eyes and tries unsuccessfully to hide a Cheshire cat grin in her scarf.

“It’s a Christmas present. Because, duh. Steve’s idea.” She gives an odd little curtsy. “I helped.”

_Shit fuck damn it Jesus help him,_ so not only did Harrington actually get him something, he has driven down to his house through an Indiana blizzard on Christmas Eve to deliver it to him. Billy thinks about the half-finished mix tape in his room and is once again reminded how he doesn’t deserve Steve Harrington, as a friend or anything else. Billy might kick his ass on the basketball court or whoop him in a fist fight, but when it comes to being a decent human being, Steve continues to leave Billy in the dust.

They all stare at each other for a few second, dumbstruck, while Billy tries to get his brain reorganized and find a few useful words. Then he catches sight of a vehicle in his driveway that should most definitely not be in his driveway.

“Why is Tom Dillon’s tow truck here?”

“Well, go on. Explain it to the man.” Robin nudges Steve with her shoulder. At least someone is having fun. Steve takes a deep breath.

“Okay. Um. I know this might be overstepping and I’ll totally understand if you decline, but... You told us that you salvaged your car and that you were gonna try to fix her up. Which is great, and you should, but you won’t get anywhere in a shed with a few wrenches.” And yeah okay, that’s true, but the unintentional jab still hurts Billy’s pride. Only by the grace of five months of therapy does he keep his reflex of _is that a fucking challenge, Harrington?_ in check.

“What I mean is... I want to help. We both do. Max told me you were working on the car and not getting anywhere-” He feels his redheaded shadow jump back further down the hall from where she was eavesdropping when Steve mentions her name, “-and so I got to thinking, it’s the season of giving, and I wanted to give you something, so...“ He points over his shoulder. “Tom is gonna tow your car to his garage. It’s been recently renovated but there’s still a working mechanic’s bay in the old building next door which he uses for his own projects. He’s really into muscle cars, by the way. He’ll let you use it for as long as you want, plus any equipment you need, in exchange for some help around the shop. Nothing major, just things like changing oil or tires or whatever you can handle. Max told me you liked working with cars, you had a part time job at a garage back in Cali for a while, so I don’t know, it could be a cool thing for you. Maybe even an actual job, if you’re ready for that, of course-”

“Harrington,” Billy holds up a hand, feels the start of a laugh stuck in his throat. “You’re rambling.”

“Yeah, he does that,” Robin replies, rubbing at her eyes with a pained but fond expression. Steve clicks his jaw shut and blushes so furiously it’s a wonder the snow around them doesn’t start to melt. He looks down at his shoes, obviously looking for a way to backtrack his whole speech. He’s so fucking cute when he squirms.

“Okay, so let me get this straight.” Billy takes a step closer. “For a Christmas gift, you got me a tow, access to a mechanic’s bay... and a parttime job?” He lets his voice slip a few octaves into that familiar purr that makes girl flustered and puts guys on edge. On Harrington, it appears to do both. He lifts his head to look Billy in the eye, looking both defiant and hurt.

“I thought it would be a nice thing.”

He can’t help it. He throws his head back and what started as a chuckle rips out of him in a howl of laughter. Then, before Harrington can take it the completely wrong way he closes the gap between them and throws his arms around him.

_Good lord, it’s just a hug, why does it feel like he’s about to combust?_

“It is. It’s a very nice thing. Goddamn, Harrington, you’re absolutely nuts.” He takes a shaky breath. When did he start crying again? “Thank you.”

Harrington relaxes against him. Brings his arms up and pulls him in closer. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs right by his ear. Breath warm on Billy’s neck. _Oh._

“Ahum.” They both seem to realize their hug has been going on for a bit too long and jump back. Robin dramatically holds out her arms. “And I helped.”

“And you helped.” Billy hugs her too, and doesn’t miss the weirdly annoyed look Steve shoots her. When he lets her go she looks even more pleased with herself and shoots him a wink.

“Okay, let’s get the car loaded up and towed.” Steve hesitates. “I mean, if that’s okay with you and your…”

“Go on, get out of here.” Susan appears in the doorframe, tossing Billy his leather jacket and his keys. “It’s a lovely gift, Robin and Steve. Thank you.” She smiles at them. “Don’t be out too late, okay?”

“We won’t. Thanks.” He pulls his jacket on and gives Susan a quick hug, in a move that surprises everyone, himself included.

“Can I go too?” Max yells from down the hall, already halfway in her winter coat and hopping on one leg to put her shoes on.

“You're staying right here, let your brother have a night with his friends.”

“But I-”

“We are gonna make popcorn and watch _It’s A Wonderful Life_ , how about that?” Max’s reply gets cut off by the front door closing. Leaving Billy, Robin, and Steve in a bubble of softly falling snow and an even softer sense of something quietly growing, like maybe there's actual friendship climbing its way up Billy Hargrove's spine towards his well-guarded heart. Which gets interrupted when Tom Dillon beeps the horn of his truck at them.

*

It takes the four of them thirty minutes to get the wreck of the Camaro out of the garage and loaded onto the truck. Then they pull out onto a snow-covered Cherry road. The beemer follows the tow truck at a steady pace for the whole fifteen minute drive. They listen to Harrington’s godawful Duran Duran tape, which Billy doesn’t hate as much as he should. He should also be keeping an eye on his baby, her crumpled blue husk flashing under every street light. Instead he only stares at Steve Harrington’s profile from his perfect vantage point in the back seat while he bops along to Hungry Like The Wolf. Their eyes meet in the rear view mirror a few times, until Robin smacks him on the arm and they narrowly miss a mailbox. After that Steve keeps his eyes on the road.

In the harsh lights of the garage, the damage looks even more graphic. Billy still feels the echo of the collision in his bones whenever he looks at it. Tom Dillon lets out a low whistle.

“That must have been some crash.”

“Yeah, it was.” Billy makes a point of looking over at Steve, who is already turning pink. “Some jackass straight-up t-boned me at full speed.” He goes red all the way to the roots of his fluffy hair.

“Anyone in there when it happened?”

“Just me. Good thing they got me in the passenger side.”

“Still. That’s quite a thing to survive. You’re lucky to still be standing here.” The room goes a little tense at that, but Billy laughs it off.

“I’ve been hearing that a lot. Starting to believe it myself.”

They unload the wreck and get her onto the workbay. Tom gives her a quick once-over, like he can’t help himself.

“Must have been a beauty. Heartbreaking to see such a car all mangled like this.” _Yeah, you’re telling me,_ Billy thinks. Tom finishes his round and gives the trunk a soft tap.

“Well, the good news is that the frame and the axles appear to be intact. So she might look like a ball of tinfoil, the bones are still good.”

Billy lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Thank fucking Christ. It’ll take forever, but at least now he knows his baby is still fixable. He’s gonna get her back. That’s one more victory he’s gonna snatch back from Neil. He’s going to get behind that wheel and he’s gonna drive back to Cali and leave all of Hawkins in his rear view mirror-

Then he catches sight of Robin whispering something at Steve Harrington and him laughing and shaking his head so that his ridiculous hair bounces around. _Oh shit. Please don’t do that to me, pretty boy._

“Listen, kid.” Dillon claps him gently on the shoulder but he still kinda jumps at the sudden contact. “Your friends didn’t tell me your whole story because that ain’t none of my business, but I know who you are. You’re that Hargrove kid, the one who got pulled out of the mall before the place went down in flames.” Billy gives a stiff nod. “Heard about that. Must have been quite the shitshow y’all went through. Just so you know, I’m not throwing you a pity party, okay? I’m cutting you a break because it’s Christmas and I could use some extra help around here, and because I know your friends. And because we take care of our own around here. So if you need help with this one,” he taps the Camaro, “just ask. Come by whenever you have time, you lend me a hand a few hours a week, I’ll let you play around in here. If it works out for both of us, there might eventually be a paycheck in it for you.”

“When can I start? Tomorrow?” 

Dillon laughs. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Day, son. My wife is gonna kill me already for being out half the evening. Let’s say Thursday, okay?”

“Thursday.” Billy shakes the offered hand. He’s actually fucking giddy. “Thanks, Mr. Dillon.”

“And no mister. Either Dillon or Tom. Now get out of here, all of you, so I can lock up.”

As Dillon goes to switch off the lights, Billy spins around one last time. He still can’t believe what just happened. This has to count as ten years of shitty Christmases returned to him with interest. He has to do something, scream, run, backflip, fucking _anything_ to channel the unfamiliar bubbles of happiness tingling in his chest. He looks over at Steve Harrington, standing there with a goofy smile on his face, staring right back. Yes.

“Good Christmas?” Steve quips as Billy marches over. He doesn’t respond, just grabs him by his sleeve and yanks _._ They collide in a hug that knocks the wind out of Harrington. _That’s what you get for making me feel things, you asshole._ Billy pulls him as close as he can get him, one arm locking them together around his waist, the other curving up, up, high over his shoulders. His hand comes to rest right at the base of Harrington’s neck. And if his fingers trail a little higher still and tangle themselves in the long hair at his nape, well, Billy has always been taught to grab what he can when he has the chance. And the more Harrington offers, the more Billy feels how starved he really is.

He doesn’t care that Dillon and Robin are watching. He holds on to Harrington and presses his forehead into the wool of the coat, just shy of nuzzling. Steve locks his arms around him.

_Goddamnit, Neil Hargrove, I hope you’re watching,_ he thinks. _I hope that wherever you are right now, you can see me winning. I’m gonna take your chosen family, this entire nowhere town you tried to drown me in, and everything you ever despised about me, and I’m gonna make it all mine. And this boy right here? I’m going to kiss him someday. And I hope that wherever you are, you will see it and it will kill you all over again._

*

Later that night, after he all but carried Max to her own room, _“I’m fine, Mad Max, really. Please sleep in your own room tonight, I’ll be okay.”_ and after the whole house has gone to sleep, he slips out from under his new comforter and pads over to his tape deck. He slips the unfinished mixtape into the slot and rummages through a shoebox full of cables until he finds the barely used microphone.

He slips the jack into the port and fiddles with the buttons. Makes himself comfortable at the foot of his bed, leaning against the frame. Turns the mic over and over in his hand.

He’s still smiling like the fool he is. _Damn you, Steve Harrington. You really never stop surprising._ He knows that tonight wasn’t meant as a challenge, but that’s how Billy is going to take it. _You think you’re the only one who can pull a stunt like that? You think you can make me cry and I’m just gonna let you have that point? Fucking watch me, pretty boy._

He takes a deep breath, raises the microphone to his mouth, and hits record.

“Hey, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing for love again. This is so cool. You all own my heart and I am not worthy. <3


	7. 7.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Car repair, mixtapes, and secret handshakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back again. <3

On Thursday morning, Billy loiters outside the gate of the garage thirty minutes before opening time. He chain-smokes his way through most of it, so as to keep his hands busy. He’s not sure, but Dillon probably won’t appreciate having an over-eager teenager banging on his door at the asscrack of dawn. When Dillon finally rolls open the heavy gate he finds Billy with his nose almost pressed up to it.

“Jesus- Alright, okay, so we’re gonna have to get you a key or something,” he grumbles. Billy grins wide and all but skips inside. Three cars are propped up on workbays.

“Coffee?” Dillon raises his own steaming mug at him questioningly. Billy shakes his head. His breakfast is clashing with the six cigarettes he just burned through, the taste of ash and nicotine heavy in his mouth and leaving him feeling a little too sharp and fuzzy at the same time. Besides, he can’t stand black coffee and Dillon doesn’t look like a man who keeps cream and sugar handy. “Eager to get started, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” Billy gives a two finger salute and shrugs out of his leather jacket. He’s wearing his oldest, rattiest pair of jeans and a Hawkins High sweatshirt he stole from the lost and found last year. “Ready when you are.”

The older man chuckles and empties his mug in one gulp. “Okay, let’s begin with some basic stuff. I’d like to see you change the oil on this one.” He taps the grey Volvo in the first bay and tosses Billy a pair of gloves. “I’ll be here watching, I won’t say a word unless you’re about to mess up. Let’s go.”

Billy rolls his eyes. How to do an oil change was one of the few useful things Neil Hargrove had ever taught him. He slides under the workbay and appreciates how much easier this is than fucking around in his driveway with the jack and the stand to keep his Camaro propped up. He’d have to either crawl on his back over the concrete or swipe Max’s skateboard, and more often than not he’d end up spilling oil all over himself. He remembers the last time he’d taken Max’s board to work on his car and how she’d come stomping out of the house, screaming at him to stop stealing her shit and to stay out of her room. She’d been so mad she actually kicked at the jack, almost bringing the entire car down on Billy. He remembers screaming in genuine fear, and then feeling a flash of fury so blinding he rolled out from under the wobbling frame with the full intention of smashing her face into the pavement. She’d been gone by the time he’d crawled out from under the car and she hadn’t come back home until dinner time. After dinner, she’d found her board on her bed, splintered by his rear tire.

Billy shakes his head to knock the shameful memory away and busies himself with locating the drain pan on the Volvo. Once he has it, he grabs a ratchet and a catch can from the nearby bench and starts loosening the plug.

It’s calming, really. He can almost do this on autopilot. He allows himself to bask in it for a bit, the smell of gasoline and engine grease, the smooth glide of cold metal under his fingers, the way he blindly finds his way around all the parts that turn and move and lock into place. This is his favorite thing about working on cars, how every little piece fits together to make the whole thing run. He can take it apart and put it back together and it will work every single time. Before he knows it, he has emptied the drain pan, changed the filter, and lowered the car down so he can pop the hood and refill the oil. He doesn’t spill a drop. Neil taught him well.

Dillon gives a satisfied nod. “Looks like you know your stuff. Good job, kid. How much time you got today?”

Billy gives a shrug at the compliment. “Gotta be in the hospital at 3.” He has an appointment with his shrink. Oh, does he have a few stories for her...

“Alright, then you can get started with changing the oil on the other two, we’ll put in new engine air filters, and after that you can help me replace the spark plugs on the Volvo here. You ever done that before?”

“No.”

“So you’ll learn something new today. Then after lunch we’ll have time to tinker with your car. Sound good?”

Sounds too good to be true.

“Sure.”

*

He feels the exhaustion in his bones by the time he gets on the bus outside the hospital. After months of doing nothing other than sleeping and healing and holding himself together, doing barely a day of normal work and an hour of therapy makes him want to curl up on a bus seat and sleep for a week. It’s a good kind of tired, though. There’s grease stains on his jeans  _ (“we’re getting you a pair of overalls tomorrow”)  _ and grime under his nails and his hair is messed up from having to tie it back, and Billy loves all of it. The weight of a wrench in his hands, the muscle memory of tightening a bolt, finding the latch of the hood without looking, all day long he put one foot in front of the other and he got through it just like that.

He told the doc about Christmas Eve. The gifts, staving off a panic attack, handing over his first two letters. He has never seen her smile so bright at him. Then he told her about Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley showing up on his doorstep, with a gift-wrapped holiday miracle in the form of Tom Dillon and his fucking tow truck. She actually laughed at that and so did Billy, through the tears that suddenly welled up for whatever reason.

She knows he’s a fag. No, don’t use fag, it’s a slur, he hears her voice in his head.  _ Isn’t that what you are, though? _

She knows he’s... gay. And she knows about Steve. Billy has talked to the doc about Steve ad nauseum, to the point where he’s sometimes still embarrassed when he goes over a session in his mind. So by the time he had finished relaying the entire scene with the car and the garage to her, and rambling about  _ how it makes him feel,  _ there was a bright scarlet flush across his cheeks. She gave him a knowing smile.

“It sounds like you’re both spending a lot of time and effort on each other.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t do  _ nice.  _ Or... or…” He helplessly fluttered his hands around.  _ Feelings.  _ Billy is never soft with anyone, and no one is ever soft with him. He either reels in swooning girls he doesn’t care about, or frantically makes out with boys in alleys and back seats with the clear understanding that it can never be more than that. He is a master of meaningless flirting, the king of acting like he doesn’t care and displaying himself so that the prey comes to him, always in control. He has no idea how to handle the no man’s land of confusion and maybe’s that is Steve fucking Harrington, a boy who will punch him in the jaw for bullying a pack of middle schoolers but who will also risk his own life to drag Billy’s broken body out of a burning building. A boy who has a reputation for being a popular, womanizing douchebag but whose only friends his age appear to be his bitch of an ex, her new boyfriend, and a bossy lesbian. A boy who, even without his crown, carries himself with an effortless charm as if he really doesn’t know that his mere presence makes Billy feel like he just stepped off a cliff. A boy who tells him they are friends and then gets him an insane Christmas gift. A boy with stupid poofy hair that he wants to ruffle so bad, and stupid brown doe eyes that could make him confess all his sins and wishes, and stupid soft pink lips that once split open under Billy’s knuckles but still seem to want to smile at him and  _ fucking hell.  _

Nothing about Steve Harrington is easy. It’s why Billy wants him in the first place.

“There’s always time to learn. Give yourself a chance.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Fine, then I’m scared, okay?”

“Of what? After everything you’ve survived, all the battles you’ve won, what do you still have to fear?”

He laughed at that, miserably. “Guess I have something to lose for the first time. Does that make sense?”

“The sentiment, yes. But that’s not how it works. You said it yourself a few weeks ago, that this is your second chance. It’s up to you now to use it.”

“What if it doesn’t work out, though?”

“That’s how we all go through life. We all take those risks, every single day. Or do you think everyone else gets a script of their life they can just follow?” She leaned in. “What are you really afraid of?”

He shrugged. A shiver escaped him. “My dad.”

“He’s gone, Billy. Neil can’t hurt you anymore.”

“He’s not gone. He’s still in here.” He tapped his index finger to the side of his head, stared at the toes of his boots until his eyes went warm and blurry. “I still hear his voice.”

The doc nodded. “It’s hard to unlearn all the violence and lies he has fed you. But it can be done. You know better now. You can be better. Right?”

“Right.” He plucked a tissue from the box on her desk and wiped his face. “I made a mixtape, you know. For Steve. Gonna give it to him on New Year’s Eve.”

She smiled. “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“I’ll see you Saturday, Billy.”

*

He gets off the bus at Hawkins’ main road and picks his way across the snow-slick sidewalk to go run an errand for Max. She has a sleepover tonight and she asked Billy to pick up a few things for her and her friend. The friend being Eleven. Eleven being the little girl the monster almost killed and Billy almost died to save.

He hasn’t seen her since Starcourt. And tonight she’ll be in their house. So Max asked him to pick up a movie. From the video rental place where Steve and Robin work.

He knows she doesn’t mean to make his life more complicated, and yet...

He walks into Family Video and is greeted by the sound of Christmas music, scratchy and tinny through the worn-out sound installation. It’s two days after Christmas, isn’t it illegal to still blast Cool Yule? It is nice and toasty inside, though. He stomps the icy sludge from his boots and unzips his leather jacket. He’s suddenly painfully aware that he doesn’t exactly look his best, with his stained clothes and his mullet all flattened and messed up, but before he can think of a lie to tell Max and wuss out, the woman at the checkout moves and the person on the other side of the desk makes eye contact with him.

“Well, well, look who decided to grace us with a visit!” His stomach does a somersault out of both relief and disappointment.

“Hey, Buckley. I need a movie.”

“Looks like you wandered into the right old shop there, traveler.” She affects this weird cowboy accent and leans towards him over the desk, props her grinning face up on her fist. “What can I do ya for?”

“Max has a sleepover tonight and I’m her errand boy. Didn’t give me specifics. I need something girls like. Any advice?”

“If I knew what girls like, I wouldn’t be single,” she quips at him. The laugh this coaxes out of him is so unexpected that he chokes on nothing. When he’s done coughing she points at the aisle to his right. “Rom coms. That’s the best I can do. John Hughes is probably a safe bet. Look for Sixteen Candles or The Breakfast Club.” He waves his thanks and follows the direction she pointed him in.

Oh, may the devil take your soul, Robin Buckley. Billy rounds a corner and finds himself staring right at Steve Harrington, arranging tapes on the top shelf. He can only just reach it so every time he stretches, the Family Video polo rides up on his torso, showing off that expanse of smooth pale skin and the curve of his spine. Billy’s mouth goes desert-dry, which is ridiculous because he has seen a lot more, they used to shower together after gym class. Not that Billy ever looked. Or at least not enough to get caught. Just a glance here and there. Just enough to get him through another night alone in his bedroom with the door locked.

It’s different now, though, with Steve being so much closer. Almost close enough to touch. These days Billy lives in a world where he can walk up to Steve Harrington and thank him for his gift and say “See you Tuesday”. He thinks about the mixtape he has hidden in the shoebox under his bed and feels a blush start to rise. Billy is a competitive asshole and one of these days it’s gonna cost him. Maybe Tuesday, if he hands over the tape and it turns out he still massively misread Harrington’s intentions with the car. The tracklist alone might be enough to scare him off, but then Billy had to go and record that goddamn message. He didn’t even sleep on it, just spewed all his emotional bullshit right onto the end of the B-side. Right after Mötley Crüe’s  _ Without You,  _ Jesus Christ save him. 

He still stares at the lanky guy stacking tapes, tossing his head to keep his hair out of his eyes. Even that simple movement sends high voltage sparks through Billy’s skin.  _ How in the fuck are you doing this, pretty boy? I’m never like this. I only lose control around you. _

A part of Billy still wants to throw a punch. The other, better part of him wants to cover up the blush and the goosebumps by messing with Harrington. So he saunters over and taps him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, can you help me find The Breakfast Club? The girl at the register was no help at all.” Steve spins around and drops three tapes. Billy grins wide. He can keep his nerves in check a whole lot better when Harrington acts like a doofus.

“Christ, don’t sneak up on people like that. We gotta get you a bell or something.” But he smiles back at Billy just as bright and nods at the stains on his sweatshirt. “First day at the garage?”

“Yup.”

“How was it?”

“Really good, actually. I like working there. Dillon’s cool. And we got started on my car. It’s gonna be quite the project but with a bit of luck she might actually run again.” He leans against the shelf and scoffs his boots across the floor, bites at his lip. “Hey, thanks again, man. You have no idea- Well, I just really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, dude. Hey, and if you need help sometime, I usually have Fridays off.”

“You know how to fix cars, pretty boy?”

“I’m willing to learn. Or I can hand you wrenches and screwdrivers and shit. Oh, and Robin actually knows a thing or two about engines, her uncle used to work for Dillon before he moved to Indianapolis. She actually knows how to weld.”

“Of course she does.” Billy tilts his head and smiles, a studied move that draws attention down to his mouth and his throat. It works better when he’s wearing an unbuttoned shirt to lead the appreciative eyes lower still, but he’ll settle for the way Steve’s eyes keep fluttering down at his lips. He mirrors the look. “I’ll keep you both in mind, then.”

“So uh- you were looking for The Breakfast Club?”

“I need a movie for Max, she’s having a sleepover. Your partner in crime told me to get that one, or Sixteen Candles. Unless you have a better tip?”

“Nah, Breakfast Club is great, Max will love it.” Steve leads Billy to the next aisle over and grabs a tape from the shelf. “I’ve seen it three times already, courtesy of Robin. She’s obsessed with Ally Sheedy.”

“Really now? I had her pegged for a Molly Ringwald type girl.” Billy takes the tape from Steve and holds it up to him, right by his own face. “How about you? Ally or Molly?” His heart is racing but damn it he’s having fun. This is his comfort zone.

“Not sure, really. Maybe I need to watch it again.” Harrington’s ears turn red, but he shamelessly keeps eye contact. “Have you seen it?”

“No.”

“You should.” The hint is clear as day.  _ We should watch it together.  _ Neither of them is going to say it.

“Maybe I’ll watch it with the girls tonight, if they let me.” Shit, Steve’s disappointed face almost makes Billy forget he’s supposed to be playing it cool and ask him if they can watch it this weekend. Tonight. Right now, for all he cares.

“Cool. I, uh, gotta get back to work. I’ll see you Tuesday, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” That earns him another smile. It’s not enough. “Hey, I have something for you, by the way. A Christmas gift.”

Steve’s head snaps up at that. “You didn’t have to-”

“Yeah, I really do, though. I was already working on it when you kinda blew me out of the water. Didn’t expect to see you before New Year’s, that’s why it’s late. So like... You’ll get it Tuesday.”

“Working on it. Are you saying you  _ made  _ me something?”

Shit. He forgot for a second that Steve Harrington can read him like a book. Billy opens his mouth but his tongue and brain have disconnected and no sound comes out. But the smile that spreads over Steve’s face is brighter than the fucking sun so maybe it’s worth it after all.

“Rainbow Nerds.” He points over his shoulder. “They sell them at the register. Max loves them. You know, if you’re looking to score big points with your sister.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks. See you Tuesday.” He steps around Steve and heads towards the register, willing his blush to go down before blood shoots out his ears.

Robin rings him up. She smiles at him all bright and innocent. “Did you find everything you were looking for, sir?” He grabs his tape and the two boxes of nerds, flips her off with his free hand. She blows him a kiss. “See you on New Year’s, sweetheart.”

* 

He’s hiding out alone in his dark bedroom, Steve’s mixtape playing quietly on his tapedeck. Seeing the girl, Eleven, was too much. He only saw her for a second when he tossed Max the tape and the candy  _ (“rainbow nerds, hell yeah!”)  _ but those wide brown eyes snared him like a helpless bug in a web. He was right back there. Sweltering summer heat he can’t feel because his body is too cold. Black veins spreading over his skin like a crack in a mirror. The slick oily blackness leaking from him and coating his insides. The fog in his mind, trying to coax him back under. The beach. His mom. Pain.

He knows he’s imagining it, but all his scars seem to pulse. His skin moves. He has locked his door and drawn the curtains, stripped down to nothing and wrapped himself in his comforter and the blanket Max left on the spare mattress. He’s curled up into a ball, sweating and shivering and trying to focus on nothing but the music and his breath.

Tomorrow he will be different. He will eat cereal with the two girls in front of the tv, watching cartoons. He will ride the bus with them into town, drop them off at the arcade before he goes in to work at the garage. He will be a good, normal big brother.

Tonight he will try to melt into the mattress, hold himself down, stay awake all through the night so he knows he’s still himself. And he’ll tell himself over and over that he’s safe, that it’s not real. 

He can’t hear the heartbeat of the girl across the hall.

He can’t sense her powers.

He doesn’t need to eat her alive.

*

“I still don’t understand why your Christmas gift for Robin is a giant bag of cheese puffs.” Max shakes her head at him as they hop out of Susan’s car and walk up the Harrington’s driveway.

“You have your weird friends, I have mine. Besides, you’re telling me you got all your nerds  _ sophisticated gifts?”  _ He taps his foot against one of the two presents-stuffed bags she carries. “Did you get Lucas a tie and a bottle of Chardonnay?”

“Oh man, I should have gotten him a tie, that would have been hilarious.” Max swings a leg up and kicks at the doorbell. “Ding dong, Stevie! Open up!” Dustin is the one who yanks open the door.

“Oh thank God, our rogue is here, the campaign is saved!” 

“Of course I’m here, now move so I can get inside, it’s freezing out here.” They exchange a hug, which means Max almost knocks a sidetable over with her two swinging gift bags. Then the curly-haired kid turns his attention to Billy.

“Hargrove,” he says measuredly.

“Henderson,” he replies equally cool. The kid looks Billy up and down like a pint-sized sentry, acts like he might slam the door if he finds Billy unworthy.

“So you’re joining the party, huh?” Billy has spent enough time around Max to know what ‘party’ means in this crowd.

“Guess so. If I’m allowed, that is.”

“There was a vote. Wasn’t unanimous, but you’re in. Max threatened to leave if we didn’t let you.”

“Bet I don’t have to ask which way you voted, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’m protective of my friends. And my trust is hard to win. Consider yourself on probation.”

Billy has to stifle a laugh. “Okay. So how do I prove myself?”

“Don’t be a dick. Max told us you’ve been getting better, but one strike and you’re out. You got that?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Also, I need to teach you the secret handshake.”

Billy bites back an incredulous  _ aren’t you all a little too old for that?  _ but Henderson’s face is dead serious as he offers Billy a hand.

“Okay, so you shake... then up... bring it in... bump it, three times, no like this, with your knuckles... then pull it back, and snap.” Billy has to do the whole shake three times before Dustin is satisfied. “I hope I don’t regret this.” He gravely puts a hand on Billy’s shoulder, which looks ridiculous because he’s so much shorter. “Welcome to the party.”

In the kitchen an already tipsy Robin flings herself at him and coos “Here he is, our newbie, our barbarian, first game of dungeons and dragons ever!” and leaves a bright red lipstick print on his cheek. She then gives an al but supersonic scream when he hands her the extra large bag of cheese puffs with the giant red bow.

“He knows me,” she whispers incredulously at Steve, who is sat on the countertop and hiding a smile behind a can of beer. “He really knows me, Stevie.”

“Yes, who could have guessed that you love cheese puffs, that’s how you know the friendship is real.” Jonathan Byers quips. He’s leaning against the kitchen table next to his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, the infamous Nancy. She gives Billy a measured smile and raises her glass in his direction. He nods back.  _ Hello, sorry for shooting a gun at you. Hi, sorry for almost running you over. _

“Everyone’s here now. Robin, you ready to get started?” Steve hops off the counter.

“That’s dungeon master to you, peasant. And I will be, as soon as I get my lovely, thoughtful gift into a bowl.”

“I’m gonna go take a leak before we start,” Billy excuses himself and sneaks out of the kitchen. In the hallway he makes sure no one is around, but all the kids seem to have retreated down to the basement. He quickly and quietly makes his way up the stairs.

It’s not hard to find Steve’s room. The plaid on plaid is a bit much for Billy’s taste, but hey, maybe this is how rich people decorate. He’s more stunned by how completely  _ Steve  _ the room is, wishes he had more time to properly snoop around.

The bed is messily made up, the covers thrown over it haphazardly. Both pillows have indents, and a quick look around reveals an overnight bag with girl’s clothes spilling out. He recognizes Robin’s boots. Thank God he knows she’s queer, but there’s still a little spike of envy. More than that, it throws a bit of a wrench in his plan. He fishes the mixtape out of his back pocket, balances it between his fingers.

Does he still go through with it? Or should he just hand it over? No, he’ll psych himself out and pussy out. Or he’ll do it, and he’ll see something on Steve’s face he doesn’t want to see. This is safer. If there ever was a safe way to give someone a mixtape.

Fuck it, he leaves the tape on the pillow nearest to the door and exits the room before he can change his mind again. On his way down he realizes this probably means Harrington will listen to the tape with Robin present. He’s not sure if he blushes out of embarrassment or jealousy.

He makes it down to the basement where the party is loudly talking around a massive table. Robin sits at the head behind a cardboard screen, shoveling cheese puffs into her mouth in between sips from an honest-to-god  _ chalice.  _ The players are organizing their sheets and dice and bickering among themselves. Dustin and Lucas sit next to each other and are screaming something about hideous laughter. Will is wearing an actual purple wizard’s hat and seems to think he looks about a thousand times cooler than he actually does. The only free chair left is on the other side of the table, between Max and Steve. She waves him over and slides a few sheets of paper over at him.

“Okay, so Robin made your character for you and I helped with your background. Basically, you’re a half-orc barbarian, which means you can take big hits and do a fuckton of damage. You have a greataxe for a weapon and you have this feature called raging, but you’ll learn all of that while we play…” She flips through the papers. “Oh and this is what I added, you and I broke out of jail together once and we’ve been partners since. I’m a halfling assassin.” She grins proudly.

“Yeah, I bet you are. So is it only the six of us? Aren’t the others playing?”

“Nah, six is more than enough,” Robin interjects. “Mike and El are going to be my lovely assistants, doing some voice-acting and providing special effects. And the two gross people in the corner over there are gonna make out for four hours.”

“Excuse you, I take my responsibilities as a sound engineer  _ very seriously,”  _ Jonathan protests and holds up a shoebox full of tapes. “Also I’m going to document this whole thing.”

“Jonathan doesn’t like to play anymore since I killed his character,” Will adds.

“I put a  _ lot  _ of work into my little druid gnome, I  _ loved  _ Oberon, and you  _ fireballed  _ him to kill a hydra!”

“It was for the good of the realm!”

“I was traumatized!”

“Silence, mortals!” Robin slams her hands down on the table. “We begin! We open on a dark and stormy night…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY D&D! Sorry for the delay, I was violently ill for about a week and it took me a while to get back into the groove. Take this chapter as my sincere apology. Part 2 of NYE soon to follow. <3


	8. 8.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dungeons, dragons, drama, dumbasses.

If Steve has to be completely honest, he was never all that much into Dungeons and Dragons. He doesn’t dislike it or anything, it’s just that it is mostly math and screaming and the kids take it so seriously that he is stressed like hell whenever they make him play. He doesn’t want to mess up because then they’d scream at him and he’d get frustrated. Steve knows he’s not a brain like Dustin or a theatre nerd like Will (whose roleplay puts everyone else to shame) or a quick thinker like Max. He’s definitely not a natural born storyteller like Robin. It gets hard sometimes, to be surrounded by so many bright lights and feel all the dimmer by comparison.

He knows Robin doesn’t _mean_ anything by it when she calls him dingus. It’s a term of endearment, he gets it. But Steve also knows he’s firmly on the bottom of the pyramid if they ever have to rank the party according to brain power. It never used to bother him, definitely didn’t bother him before the Upside Down madness began. He had _other qualities,_ you know? He scraped by on C’s in high school, did a halfway decent job on exams, turned in homework whenever he had time between beating keg stand records and fixing his hair, and was secure in knowing that he had his dad and the company as a safety net. ‘The Future’ was marked off on his to-do list in someone else’s handwriting. So Steve was allowed to stay nice and safe in his cozy rich-boy nest and no one demanded any more from him than ‘ _pass high school without dying’_.

Then Nancy happened, and she had made him want to be better. He had actually thought about the consequences of work versus college, and how the rest of his life could be decided by the path he was on right now. Which is the single most terrifying realisation a teenager can have.

And then reality said _‘oh so you want terrifying?’,_ split itself right down the middle and spat out a few truckloads of nightmares in Steve’s general direction, as if to say _‘here you go, deal with this’._ Fighting monsters, for all the madness it brought with it, also gave Steve an odd sense of purpose. For the first time he had real-life responsibilities and consequences. He hated it at first, didn’t want to deal with the blood and the death and the government conspiracies. He only wanted to pass senior year and keep his girlfriend safe. Or just keep her. Then it turned out Nancy didn’t need him, but there was a gaggle of kids who _did._ Which is where the real mess began.

They were all so much smarter than him. And brave, and reckless, but also alarmingly young and small and accident-prone. And the worst part was how they all _looked_ at Steve like he knew shit. Like he understood the parts of the world they couldn’t learn in books. Like he was an ‘adult’ who could keep them safe and fix shit if something went wrong. And even after he failed so spectacularly at protecting them from a feral Billy Hargrove and _they_ had to save _his_ ass, they still kept looking at him like that. Like they needed him.

He loves them for it and hates it in equal measures. Because the illusion won’t hold up forever. He feels it shift little by little every day, like the tectonic plates of the planet which Dustin tried to explain to him once and he only halfway understood. He knows he can’t keep up with them indefinitely. The one thing he has over them, his age, is a gap that becomes less significant with every passing day. The kids will grow up, they’ll learn how to drive and shotgun a beer and throw a punch and flirt with girls, and nothing about Steve will retain that mythical power. They’ll look behind them and see him standing in their dust, a dethroned high school king with nothing to his name except old traumas and a handful “remember when?” tales from when he was still taller than them.

He sees it even in their d&d games, because Dustin made his character a fighter. Which is what Steve has always been to them, a powerful warrior armed to the teeth, who will take hits and go down swinging to protect the party. It’s how it worked for their lower levels. But the further along they get in the adventure, the less they need him. The annoying parallels seem to be put in place just to taunt him. He should be proud that they can hold their own, but his protective instincts are always screaming to _get in front of them,_ and isn’t that just the funniest thing you’ve ever heard? Steve Harrington, from douchebag jock to doting babysitter. 

The truth is he needs the kids more than they will ever realize. They shared the insanity of those tunnels and everything since then. They were made his responsibility and he _knows_ it was only supposed to be for that one night but he doesn’t feel like he was ever really dismissed from the task. Doesn’t want to be. They are his responsibility, a messed up little unit stuck between worlds and growing up all crooked, with matching scars knitting them together. At this point he couldn’t let them go even if he wanted to. They are all what gives him direction in life and he dreads the day when they’ll inevitably shake him loose and Steve Harrington will drift away. Alone again.

It’s what swirls around in the back of his mind while Robin talks them through an ancient underground maze into the lair of some kind of volcanic beast. And it is a fun adventure, because Robin really knows her shit and the kids are so invested it’s hard to not get swept up in the wake of their enthusiasm. But for the umpteenth time, Steve finds himself completely and utterly blown away by Billy Hargrove.

After a few rounds of letting Max backseat drive his barbarian, Billy takes to the game like a fish to water. The kids’ eyes light up when he falls into a gruff, broken English character voice and starts actively roleplaying. It took Steve three sessions before he got comfortable enough to play his character with some actual personality and even now he’d never do a goddamn _voice._ But Billy makes a choice and sticks to it and it is both weirdly funny and impressive as hell. Max sits up next to him and beams with so much pride there’s a blush streaking across her cheeks.

“Grumak hits the pillar with his axe to cave in the tunnel behind us.”

“Oooooooh,” Jonathan hoots on the couch somewhere behind them, while juggling a new tape into the deck and blasting the basement with appropriately bombastic and stressful-sounding music. Steve glares back at him, just in time for Nancy to snap a pic with a disposable camera. Reflexively, and also too late, his hand shoots up to fix his hair. He sticks out his tongue and she winds the wheel up, aims the camera back at him. This time he dramatically throws his head back and flips her off right when she clicks the button. 

There are sounds of rolling dice and screams behind him, but Steve doesn’t stop sticking out his tongue at Nancy and posing for the camera until Billy tugs on his sleeve.

“I’m sorry, what?” He swivels back around and makes his best innocent-puppy-face at Robin.

“ _As I was saying,_ Grumak caved in the tunnel so the spiders can’t follow you anymore. However, he has also damaged the integrity of the bridge. Part of it just collapsed. Only Grumak and sir Steve still need to cross.” Steve’s character once had a long and complicated name, which he promptly forgot, and the kids all decided to just redub him sir Steve. Which Robin of course finds _hilarious_ and causes Steve to violently cringe whenever anyone addresses him.

“Grumak can probably make that jump, right?” Billy asks Max, already tapping his dice against the tabletop.

“Yeah, I think you can both make it. It’s pretty far, but-”

“Hold on, no, wait, I can’t make that.” Steve shuffles through his sheets. “I got whammied by the magical stone in that weird temple-room we were in so I still have that level of exhaustion-”

“That’s just disadvantage, you can still try-”

“ _Yes I know, Dustin,_ but I’m also blinded because _someone_ throws spells around like they’re handing out candy and damn the friendly fire, right?”

“You were covered in spiders, where else was I gonna aim? Also, don’t blame me for you failing your saves.”

“Yeah whatever, how about someone throws me a rope and pulls me across?” Steve grumbles and slides down in his chair.

“Grumak has a plan,” Billy pipes up and shoots Steve a _way too happy_ grin. “Grumak will carry the puny human.”

“Grumak will do no such thing,” Steve protests over the sound of Max’s laughter. “I’ll try to make the fucking jump, or I’ll climb up, or let them hoist me up. And if I fall and die I'll haunt the party for all eternity so that's your problem, twerps. Someone throw me a rope.”

“I tie down my rope and throw the other end to sir Steve,” Dustin says, maybe feeling a little guilty for blinding Steve.

“Grumak catches the rope!” Billy shouts with glee and rolls his dice. An 18. Steve rolls a 6. “Now Grumak picks up sir Steve.”

“Is there any point in fighting him on this?” Steve groans at Robin.

“Doesn’t look like it,” she smirks at him over the edge of her chalice. “He seems determined. How do you carry him, Grumak?”

“Grumak carries sir Steve with one arm." There is so much mischief in his face Steve kinda forgets to breathe for half a second. "Like small child on hip of mother.”

Steve throws his arms up in dramatic surrender, and also maybe to divert attention from the pink glow slowly creeping up from his neck. “You know what? Fine. Under protest, sir Steve wraps his arms and legs around the smelly half-orc, and he better make that jump now and not fucking drop us. Step to it.” The kids are rioting by now, even Eleven seems to have grasped the hilarity of the imaginary situation. Which gets even worse when Billy winks, rolls his dice, and completely misses the jump. Through tears and and hiccups, Robin describes how the half-orc ends up dangling from the rope, with a very bemused human clinging to him like a baby koala.

“Ah, yes. Great. Perfect. We are never going to live this down,” Steve sighs as Dustin, Will, Lucas and Mike all but choke on their laughter. Billy, at least, has the decency to look a little sorry. “Can I climb up along Grumak and up the rope?”

“I don’t know, you are blinded...” Robin leans back in her chair, pulling her bowl of cheese puffs closer and flicking one into her mouth. “But do go on, the show is mighty entertaining.”

“I would argue that sir Steve could find his way up on feeling. Possibly smell.” Steve gives an exaggerated eye roll.

“Grumak resents that,” Billy huffs. “That’s, like, _super_ racist to keep insinuating that I smell bad just because I’m a half-orc covered in monster guts.” Max dissolves into another fit of giggles which immediately sets off Eleven.

The laughter ends in a few choked off screams when there’s a sudden volley of fireworks going off outside. The bangbangbangs aren’t as loud as they are in the ugly memories, but it’s enough to take every single person in the basement back to that moment and it’s as if all the air gets eaten out of the room by a rolling fire. 

Steve jumps up so fast his chair clatters backwards to the tile floor and he immediately does a headcount. Lucas screams, Mike grabs for Eleven’s hand like lightning, Will sits up stiff and pale and wide-eyed. Eleven claps her free hand over her mouth as if to contain another whimper working its way up. Robin looks to be halfway between terrified and royally pissed off, pressed against the back of her chair with her knees drawn up and her hands squeezed knuckle-white across the armrests but also staring up at the ceiling with murder in her eyes. Nancy has dropped the camera and grabbed Jonathan’s arm with her left hand, while brandishing the empty wine bottle in her right. And Max, who looks to be about two seconds away from crying, is reaching over to grab Billy by his shoulder.

“You okay?” she whispers to her brother, who has gone completely still. Shoulders drawn up with tension, head slumped forward so that his curls hide his face. Steve’s eyes drift down to where the muscles in Billy’s arms keep shifting from the way he rhythmically squeezes his fists.

A second burst of fireworks sets off a new round of screams in the basement, mostly swears and yelling this time, and Jonathan mumbles something about how it’s still almost forty minutes until midnight. It must be a different neighbour who launched these because this time they can also see them, a glow of pink and blue reflecting through the basement window and painting them all in neon shades. Even Dustin, the only member of the party who wasn’t present for the fireworks attack inside Starcourt, is shivering by now. His friends’ panic must be contagious. He stares at Steve across the table, blue eyes wide and bottom lip wobbling from biting back fear.

Steve snatches two pillows from the couch and stomps over to the window, shoves the pillows into the frame so that the view is completely blocked. Jonathan, bless his heart, has switched out the tape for some cheerful up-tempo guitar work and cranks the volume up to the point where they can only just hear each other without yelling.

“Right.” Steve pulls his chair back up and sits down hard. Max has pressed herself completely against Billy’s side and it’s hard to tell who is comforting who. “So is my blind ass climbing up or are you still gonna carry me?” He casually claps a hand on Billy’s other shoulder and leaves it there. He feels him take a few deep breaths to steady himself and slowly wills his body to relax. Billy lifts his head and he’s pale and there are teeth marks in his bottom lip, but his eyes are clear and he sticks out his chin defiantly.

“Grumak suggests sir Steve moves to his back and he will climb up the rope.”

“We will pull you up once you get close enough,” Dustin adds and Steve hates how small his voice sounds.

“Sure,” Robin nods quietly and empties her entire chalice in one go.

“Giddyup, Grumak,” Steve squeezes his shoulder. “Our lives are in your hands.”

He eventually has to move his hand from Billy’s arm, but he does lean in slightly until they are sitting shoulder to shoulder. Steve feels Billy relax into it and they stay like that for the rest of the session. Even when they move around for whatever reason, both of them slink back down in their seats and lean over until their arms barely touch. Even with the slightest pressure, the shared body heat flares through their sleeves and it makes Steve a little loopy. He hopes Billy takes at least some comfort from it, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t also a bit for his own benefit.

As they get closer to midnight, the bursts of fireworks outside get longer and more frequent. As a result, the game gets louder and louder. The kids start to get up to act out their actions, screaming their spells and banging on the table to emphasize hits. Mike and Eleven die a few dozen deaths, screaming and gurgling in the role of every monster that gets slain. Steve lets himself get carried by the energy and starts running around the table, brandishing an old umbrella as a sword and stabbing Mike in his pillow-shield.

And if Steve does it, Billy has to do it twice as hard. He ends up hurdling over the table at one point, almost kicking Dustin in the head in his haste to dramatically and heroically throw himself between the bard and the four-armed lava giant, of course played by Mike with Eleven on his back. 

Midnight hits and a chorus of explosions thunders through the sky outside. Jonathan twists the volume on the stereo all the way up and starts singing along for good measure. It’s Billy’s turn and he, Mike and Eleven spend a good minute mainly screaming at each other until they’re all red in the face and everything outside of the basement gets blocked out. The rest of the kids and Steve hammer their fists on the tabletop to the rhythm of the music and it’s the most glorious, chaotic middle finger. It’s so great that Steve feels drunk. He thinks he sees Robin crying but she’s also smiling from ear to ear so she’s probably okay.

One round later and the fireworks are not letting up. Steve plonks back in his chair after doing a fuckton of damage and Billy pounds him on the back, whooping like they just won a basketball game. They flash wild grins at each other, both red all over but it’s easy to blame that on the beer and the screaming. The Mike-Eleven monster drops to its knees, spitting and screaming but not yet defeated. Robin yells at Max over the pandemonium that it’s her turn.

“I’m too far away!”

“Throw your daggers!”

“Throw them, Trynee, he’s almost dead! Finish him!”

“Foolish mortals, I will pave my kingdom with your bones!” Mike bellows and Eleven slips off his back, once again gone limp with giggles.

“Billy!” Max punches him in the arm. “I mean, Grumak! Throw me! I use my action to coat my daggers in poison and my movement to move over to Grumak. He threw his axe in the last round so he doesn’t have a weapon! He can throw me!”

“I’ll allow it!” Robin yells over the absolute anarchy that the party has become. Billy rolls and just barely makes the hit.

“Get up!” He pushes himself out of his seat and yanks Max up with him, grabs her around her waist and hoists her up. “You ready?”

“Throw me!”

“Eat shit, lavabitch!”

Billy makes as if he’s actually going to launch his sister screaming into space, but he keeps his hands firmly under her arm and in her belt and merely swings her forward to put her down right in front of Mike. Max uses the speed to push off on one foot and throws herself into him, stabbing him with invisible daggers. He’s smacked backwards into Eleven, and the three of them go down in a shrieking tangle of limbs.

“Trynee drives her poison blades deep into the monster’s skull!” Robin screams over everyone. “She dodges the geysers of lava that shoot out of the wounds! The creature gives one final roar-” Eleven shrieks so loudly her voice breaks and she starts coughing for real, “-and it dies with a final, horrible death rattle that sounds like a little girl choking on her own tongue. It falls down and spills out into a puddle of lava. In the middle of the quickly cooling mass you find the last master rune. As Trynee picks it up, the doorway at the other end of the hall starts to glow. You have found the way out. A way that, undoubtedly, will lead you to many more adventures. Thank you for your attention, my name is Robin and I was your very proud dungeon master.”

The basement erupts into rowdy cheers. Max throws herself back at Billy, who picks her up and swings her around to deposit her on top of the table. Robin can only just yank her battle map out of the way before Lucas and Will hoist themselves up next to her, kicking empty soda cans to the floor and falling all over each other in their celebration. A chorus of “happy new year” rings out through the room. The music cuts out for a few seconds until Jonathan blasts We Are The Champions at full volume and a very winedrunk Nancy hollers along. Outside, the fireworks start to die out, as if they know they can’t win.

Nancy hauls Jonathan to his feet and forces him to join in the victory dance. Steve slides over to the newly vacated sofa and throws himself into the deep pillows. The other side of the couch dips and Robin arranges herself across his lap with a loud sigh and starts cracking all her fingers one by one.

“Well, that was hella fun but I am more than ready to put the little ones to bed and get stoned as fuck in the pool house. Are you gonna use your super-babysitter-powers or do we just knock them unconscious?”

“Give them like five more minutes to celebrate, then I’ll go be the annoying adult.” He digs his fingers into Robin’s hair and she immediately curls into it like a cat, closes her eyes and snuggles up to him. He plays with her hair while he takes in the scene, the party hopping around and whooping and screaming along to Jonathan’s Queen tape. He tries not to stare at Billy as he swings Max around by the arms and bangs his head until his curls fly around like a halo. Of course Billy catches him staring.

The smile Billy gives him is almost shy but he doesn’t break eye contact. Steve just stares back until Max reclaims Billy’s attention and he turns around. Glances back over his shoulder. Steve feels that look burn all the way to the back of his scalp. There’s an eagerness inside him. He wants to get up and meet Billy halfway, figure out what he needs to do to draw the boy out.

There’s a line between a crush and something deeper, something that carries the potential to be more. A part of Steve has wanted Billy since forever, and it’s the part of him that wants to be like Billy, the two of them grinding sparks out of each other, all warm blood and sharp teeth and muttered challenges. The parts of them that are half _fight me_ and half _kiss me._ Steve wanted him because Billy is fire and calloused hands and tequila on an empty stomach and a fist to the face that knocks you across five dimensions. He didn’t need Billy to be _nice._ He just had to be _real_ and _alive_ and willing to let Steve lean into him so he could steal some of that heat.

But Billy being a hero? Billy dying, Billy being torn to shreds, Billy having a heart and a soul and a story? That fucked him up. It turned a secret, two-dimensional lust into a bottomless well. It didn’t change them, it only changed the lighting around them and suddenly Steve could see everything so clearly. Under layers of grime and fury there was everything Billy really was and everything he could be, and Steve never stood a chance. Seeing Billy flayed open and bloody made him fall in love. And every time he gets a little closer, he understands it a bit more.

Because where the kids will inevitably outgrow him, Billy seems to always stay in Steve’s rhythm. The writing was on the wall as soon as Billy handpicked him as his rival. He doesn’t want to win at anything if Steve isn’t racing with him. Specifically Steve. Even when they were trading punches it had at least made him feel wanted. Grounded. You're here, and no one else matters. You and me and whatever violent delights we can beat out of each other. You. Only you. Steve thinks he gets it now, that pull. They were always gonna keep running towards each other for whatever collision they could get. And now? What can they have now that so many secrets have been spilled but they still can’t see clear enough?

Steve wants another hit. Another crash. He wants it so much it scares him. He knows how to wind girls around his fingers, charm them until their knees turn to liquid and their voices are nothing but breath. He has no idea how to handle a boy made of diamonds and razored edges. He is terrified of fucking up and seeing all those cracks opening again. He is terrified of how big his own heart feels when he thinks about Billy. So he offers him friendship, tiptoes closer, fishes for clues, puts up flags. Please trust me. Tell me it’s okay. Show me how to do this right. I am clueless, but I want to try.

So when he gets up to start wrangling the kids into their pajamas and sleeping bags, he pushes past Billy way closer than he needs to and presses their shoulders together just long enough to feel their heat. _Please. I’m waiting._

* * *

It’s not as if he tried to avoid her. The roleplay helped, of course, and the fact that he got to scream as loud as he wanted. It’s fine. He’s _fine._

Billy bumps into Eleven coming out of the bathroom and it’s fine. The kids are all snuggled up in the basement together after doing their holiday gift exchange. The “adults” were all kicked out of the room for that but Billy knows that Max got Eleven and her a set of walkies. She already has one for the party, but now her and El have a ‘private line’, as she called it when Billy walked in on her putting batteries in them. _“Because we can’t talk about the boys over an open channel and it will drive them nuts, which is hilarious.”_

When Billy leaves the bathroom, she’s standing by the door. Her pajamas are a bit too big for her, the sleeves are cuffed. She’s still holding the new walkie _._ She’s a nailbiter, Billy notices. The sparkly blue polish is chipped.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a soft voice. Billy frowns.

“Um, it’s okay?” He holds open the door. “Go ahead, bathroom’s free.”

“No.” She steps closer. “I’m sorry I make you feel bad.”

An ice cube slowly slides down into his stomach. He tries to laugh it off but it’s hard with those big doll’s eyes pinning him in place.

“It’s fine.” He can hear how fake his smile is. “I’ll get over it.”

“How?” Christ, how is her voice so small and yet sharp enough to cut him to the bone? “How do you get over it? Because I can’t.” She touches her hand to the side of her head. “I still think about it. I see it. I feel bad.”

“Jesus.” Billy rubs his hands across his face, gone from zero to the verge of tears in 2.5 seconds. “Yeah, um. I don’t- I don’t know if this is the right time to unpack all that. But... I don’t know. That’s the thing, I don’t know how to get over any of it. But I’m guessing we... we might have to talk sometime. I’ll try to figure out what to say by then. All I can give you for now is... I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry for everything that happened. To you, and... your friends, and... and what I almost... did to you. Christ, I’m so-”

“No.” She interrupts him. “Not that. That was not you. They are bad things, but they were not your fault. I mean I feel bad about the beach.” She reaches towards Billy’s head but doesn’t touch him. “In here. I saw it. I feel bad about it, Billy. And it’s not my fault, but I’m sorry it happened.”

He’s spilling over. He feels for the wall behind him to have something else hold him up other than his shaking legs.

“Okay, okay,” He whispers more to himself than to her. “I- thank you.”

“I would like to talk, sometimes. Maybe it helps.”

“Yeah, sure, kid.” He wipes at his eyes, takes a few shaky breaths. “So you told them about the beach, huh?” He already knows from Max, but the question kinda tumbled out on the end of his guts that she seems to be reeling out of him.

“Yes. Only Max at first, right after it happened, and only about your mom. Before we knew if you would be okay. I wanted her to know something good. It only made her cry more, though.” Billy lets out a wet laugh at that. Yeah, go figure. “Then I had to tell the doctors how I got you free, because they didn’t trust you. And the party wanted to know too. So I told them about the wave.”

“And... the rest of it? The bad shit?” He swallows down his embarrassment.

“I told Max. But she already knew about your dad. It did help her understand better, I think. She told the party a little bit, so they could understand too.” Pauze. “And Steve. He asked me about it when you were in the hospital. He was worried and I think he knew a bit of it, but he needed the story. It didn’t make him feel better but he understands it best, now.” 

The bottom drops out of Billy’s stomach. He knows the girl walked along the beach in his head, saw the hurricane of memories that kept him trapped in there. Did she see all of it? Did she see California, Billy kissing boys, his dad almost killing him? Did she see _Steve_ in there? What did she tell them? Part of him wants to ask her exactly how many of his secrets she walked through, another part wants to die before he hears one more word.

“Okay. Thank you for telling them, I guess. It helps that they know now. Definitely Max, I think.”

“Yes.” She cocks her head to the side as if she’s listening to a question he didn’t ask. “So we will talk soon?”

“Sure.”

“Promise?” She holds out her hand. Billy knows Max and her friends have this crazy strict honor code about honesty and never breaking promises, but right now he’d shake on just about anything to get out of here.

“Yeah, promise.” He puts out his hands and she wraps her fingers around his. Doesn’t shake, just holds.

“Okay.” She lets him go and steps past him into the bathroom. “Happy New Year, Billy.”

Billy makes his way out to the pool house, trying to shake off the moment and scrubbing at his eyes to erase all evidence of tears. Jonathan Byers had better brought some good weed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahhhhh so... I'm sorry this took forever? And I'm sorry if it kinda sucks? Not fishing for compliments, depressive episodes are a true bitch. I feel like I fought a whole-ass dragon to even get this chapter out, so I don't feel too good about it by association. I'm a blob, soz.  
> On the bright side, I kinda went into a trance around the 4K mark and suddenly I had a giant-ass chapter and I was only two thirds of the way where I wanted to go with it. So I'm sending the first half out to y'all tonight and I'm keeping the unfinished second half as a springboard to keep me motivated and get the next chapter out by like, Tuesday or something. Here's hoping.  
> I still love each and every one of you from the bottom of my chilly little heart.


	9. 9.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weed and skinny dipping and magical heavy metal mixtapes. 1986 is already wild, y'all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter, once again, got a little out of control. I STILL couldn't fit in everything I had planned, but seeing as how it's over 7K long already I just cut it off here. Thank you all for your sweet, sweet comments that keep me fueled, and thank you for your endless patience with my lack of timely updates. You are all so loved.

Yeah, so Jonathan Byers definitely has the same dealer as Tommy H. It’s not California weed, but it’s the best small-town Indiana has to offer. Nancy Wheeler, lightweight that she is, is sprawled out over a lounge chair like a ragdoll. Her boyfriend sits behind her, absentmindedly playing with her hair and keeping the blunt out of her reach before she completely goes off the deep end.

Byers is the more seasoned smoker and Billy’s favorite kind of stoner. Calm, loose-limbed, rolls a clean joint even when they’re already two deep, and can keep a conversation going. Billy hates smoking with people who disappear inside their own head after two puffs. Because Billy gets chatty when he’s high and if he wanted to listen to himself talk he might as well smoke on his own.

Robin and Steve are both giggle-stoners who talk about everything and probably have to feign amnesia in the morning when someone makes fun of all the dumb shit they said. It’s also way adorable to see Steve Harrington go on a ten minute rant about the moon being  _ just too big _ .

All in all, Billy should be having a pretty great night in the dimly lit pool house with Jonathan’s The Doors tape playing softly on the stereo, surrounded by clouds of smoke and the Harrington’s patio furniture and a handful of people he maybe sorta could start to consider friends. Friendly acquaintances, let’s say. He definitely likes Buckley, and Byers is nice enough, and Wheeler is... Steve’s ex who fired a gun at him and still sometimes makes a face at Billy like she’s gonna catch fleas from him, but she was almost pleasant tonight. She’s definitely easier to take with a few substances as a chaser. And Steve is giggly and pretty and his eyes crinkle when he smiles and he’s on the floor with his head against Robin’s knee and his legs are stretched out so that his sneakers  _ just  _ graze the side of Billy’s leg. It should be a great fucking party if only he didn’t have his head full of a little psychic girl. He decides he’s gonna try to smoke her out of his brain and have a good goddamn night.

Steve quickly proves again that he has a big, dumb mouth when he’s on something. Billy is reminded of that night not even a month ago, their first reunion post-apocalypse when Steve was out of his mind on acid and flapped his jaw about anything that crossed his foggy mind. Tonight, he somehow decides that therapy is a good topic of conversation.

“No but, like, it’s kinda funny that Robin and I have the same therapist. Poor doctor Donnelly has to hear the same bullshit  _ twice  _ all the time, because we literally tell each other all our shit and then go tell it to her like it’s one big story.”

“I keep telling you, we should just get married so we can do couple’s therapy, it would save both us and her so much time,” Robin says around a mouthful of smoke.

“But we work together, wouldn’t that be inappropriate? That goes against the values of Family Video.”

“What the fuck ever, Harrington, we also live together, like, five days a week. I’m basically already your platonic wife.”

“Emphasis on the platonic, thank God,” Jonathan adds and steals the joint back from her.

“Excuse you, and what is that supposed to mean?” Robin slaps at him and misses.

“Yeah!” Nancy pipes up. “Why are you against it? Robin and Steve could totally be cute together!” Billy instantly hates her a little bit again. He also makes a mental note that Robin’s apparently not out to Wheeler and Byers yet.

“Because Harrington couldn’t handle Robin if God Himself gave him the strength,” Billy inserts himself into the conversation. “She’d eat him alive.”

“Exactly.”

“You say that as if I wouldn’t like it,” Steve replies, and Robin and Nancy probably wake every neighbour with their howling laughter. “What? Not Robin, per se, but I don’t mind a strong personality.”

“Steve, baby, I love you so much but you’re digging yourself into a hole here.” Robin ruffles his hair affectionately. Steve slaps her hands away, suddenly furiously blushing.

“Good God, I hope I remember this tomorrow.” Nancy wipes tears from her eyes. “But like, yeah, it’s weird sometimes thinking that you share a shrink with other people. My brother and I both go to the same doctor out in Marigold and I know he’s a  _ professional  _ and all that, but it’s still... you know? He  _ knows. _ ” She nudges Jonathan’s arm. “And  _ you  _ went to the same doctor for a while, right?  _ And Will too.  _ Oh wow, yeah, so he knows who you are when I talk about you.”

“Nancy, I highly doubt he thinks about it that much. It’s his job to listen, he’s not putting together scrapbooks about us.”

“But what if he is, though.” She sits up. “He could write a whole book about us. It’d be great. He’d make so much money. Do you think we’d get royalties? Pass me the joint.”

“Not a chance, you’ve had enough.” Jonathan hands the blunt off to Billy.

“No faiiiiir,” Nancy whines. Billy grins and blows a lazy plume of smoke in her direction. “Hey, don’t you and Max also go to the same doctor in the hospital?”

“Yeah,” he replies in a monotone voice.  _ God, please, any other subject, literally anything. _

“Yeah, you two did group for a while, right?” Steve adds. Somehow it bothers him about 20 percent less when Steve mentions it. Maybe because Billy is stupidly flattered that he remembers dumb things like his therapy schedule.

“More like family sessions, but just the two of us. We had a lot of the same shit to work through and a lot of things that needed to be said. It was really good, actually.” He shoots Steve a look as he hands him the joint back. “Maybe you and Buckley should do family therapy instead.” He sits up, suddenly too warm. “Hey, by the way, I was lured here tonight with the promise of swimming. We gonna get in the pool or what?”

“I’ll get in as long as the pool lights stay off and I’m not the only one.” Robin elbows Steve in the side. “You in?”

“It’s cold, though.”

“The pool is heated, you big baby.”

“But baby, it’s cold outside.”

“I’ll swim,” Jonathan pipes up.

“Then we have a majority,” Billy says and kicks off his boots. Something clatters to the floor. Robin raises her eyebrows.

“Why do you have a knife in your boot?”

Billy grins at her and shrugs, slips out of his denim shirt. “Because the one time in three years that I didn't have it on me, I got attacked by a dimension-shifting monster. Not taking that chance again.”

“You would have fought the Mindflayer with a butterfly knife?” 

“Well I sure as fuck would've tried.”

Jonathan lets out a stoned giggle at this and mumbles “Ah, he’s funny. Why is he funny? He was supposed to be a dick.”

“Shut up and take your clothes off, Byers.” Robin falls over laughing again, but Jonathan just chuckles and starts untying his shoelaces.

“Come oooooon, Stevie,” Robin nags and shakes Steve by his shoulder as she kicks her own shoes off.

“But I don’t wanna-”

“Oh wow,” Nancy lets slip and the pool house goes quiet. Because Billy just took off his henley. And he obviously knew it was coming, was waiting for a reaction, but now that it’s here it makes him want to say something cutting and bare his teeth.

“O-kay. So there’s that.” Robin stares at him, the blunt forgotten between her fingers. Billy fights a blush and lazily flexes his shoulders. He knows how it looks when he stretches, the flower-shaped scars reaching their fingers up along his ribs and curving over his chest and arms like vines.

“Problem, ladies?”

“I think it’s just that we were all  _ aware  _ of the scars, but we hadn’t seen them until now, and there’s quite a few of them,” Jonathan says slowly. “Not saying shit. Just... processing.”

“Yeah, processing,” Robin agrees. “Processing how it’s possible that even  _ scars  _ look good on him.”

“Robin!” the other three yell in unison. 

“What?!” 

Billy throws his head back and laughs.

“Don’t yell at her, assholes, that was a  _ compliment.  _ Thanks, Buckley.” She tips an imaginary hat at him. Billy sits up, knowing that the dim lighting makes the raised edges stand out even sharper and jabs his finger at the four other teens. “Listen, let me make one thing very clear. I don’t want anyone getting all weepy over a few scars, okay? I’m not suddenly some fragile little victim with body image issues. There’s a lot fucked up about me, but these scars are  _ way  _ at the bottom of my list of problems.”

“You do keep them covered up, though,” Steve says quietly. Billy’s head snaps in his direction. “Like, compared to how you used to dress… It’s easy to make assumptions.” Billy closes his eyes for the space of a breath before he regains his footing.

“Okay, sure. I do keep them covered up. That doesn’t mean I’m ashamed of them. I don’t like the  _ reactions  _ I get from people who don’t  _ understand.  _ How they go all soft and careful because they seem to think I’ll shatter from a light breeze. Even in the hospital, people assumed that I hate how I look now and it changes how they act around me. So for emphasis:  I'm not ashamed of the scars. They look badass. They look like I fought Satan himself and won. Which I kinda did. The reason I'm not wearing my shirts open like an asshole is because it's  _ fucking winter. _ ”

“Like that stopped you before,” Nancy mumbles and Billy rounds on her, grateful for a chance to let his claws come out.  _ Wheeler with the assist, who’d have guessed? _

“I don't deal too well with the cold anymore, Wheeler, so thank you and have a nice day. The other reason is that whenever someone sees them, they think they have the right to feel sorry for me. I don't want your fucking pity. I have scars because I did one good thing in my life. Don't y'all dare try to make me ashamed of that.”

A heavy silence settles over the room. He can almost hear the ash from the blunt hit the floor in the lull between songs before Jim Morrison starts crooning again.

_ Wishful crystal  _

_ Water covers everything in blue  _

_ Coolin' water  _

_ Wishful sinful  _

_ Our love is beautiful to see  _

_ I know where I would like to be  _

_ Right back where I came  _

“But on that note, boys and girls, I have to warn you,” he pushes himself up to his feet and unbuckles his belt, “if the scars gave you trouble, you might really want to avert your eyes for the next part,” he sways his hips like he’s getting paid for this little show, hooks his thumbs in the waistband and starts pushing down. “because…” His eyes find Harrington’s like they’re magnetized, the boy is owlishly blinking up at him from his spot on the floor and a confused flush is creeping up from his neck. Billy pops the top button of his jeans. He hears Wheeler squeal and Buckley lets out the most horrified, nervous lesbian giggle he’s ever heard. The dip of his V along his hip bones is now on full display, as is the treasure trail of soft blond hairs. Billy revels in the control he has over the room for a second longer. “...I’m not wearing underwear.” And he pushes the jeans down.

Buckley screams and covers her eyes, Wheeler collapses into a howling pile. Billy doesn’t stick around to catch Steve’s response because he doesn’t trust his body to not betray him if they make eye contact now. Be it either by blushing or by his blood rushing in the very opposite direction. So he steps out of his pants and strolls out of the pool house as casual as he can. 

The freezing air hits him like someone drops an ice-filled blanket over his head. Three steps away the black mirrored surface of the pool lays waiting, steam rising from it. So inviting. So familiar. He cannonballs into it with a wild-child howl.

Water is an old friend. A concrete hole filled with chlorinated water in an Indiana backyard is a long way off from the waves of the Pacific crashing over a pale gold beach, but right now it more than does the trick. The water is gloriously warm after the cold bite of winter but the slide of it against his skin still has a cool, refreshing quality to it. His mind feels halfway clear again.

He tips his head back and spreads out, lets his arms drift open, feels his hair fan out. A horizontal Jesus, he floats across the dark pool under an expanse of ink-black sky dotted with stars. The cold rushes across his front so he turns himself over in the water, face down. Dead man’s float. Then around again when his back gets cold, over and over and over, washing the chill from his bones.

A long scream rips the silence to shreds and Billy lifts his head just in time to catch sight of Robin (still in her underwear, boo, chicken) and, surprisingly, a  _ very naked _ Jonathan Byers. They jump in together, sending a tidal wave out over the tiles.

"Oh sweet Jesus, that feels so good," Byers whoops as his head breaks through the surface and he shakes his hair out of his face. On the other end of the pool, closer to Billy, Robin comes up and sprays a mouthful of water into the air. 

"Harrington, I take back every bad thing I ever said about your pool, I love swimming so much!" She wipes the droplets from her lashes and shoots Billy a very stoned grin. The bleeding smudges of eyeliner around her eyes make her look a little crazy. Jonathan dives back under. "Even though I have to share the pool with two naked men, Sappho forgive me," she mumbles, then kicks a wave into Billy’s face as she goes to do a handstand.

High-pitched giggles behind them. Steve Harrington, ever the gentleman, leads a still very fucked up Nancy Wheeler out of the pool house while dragging a lounge chair behind him. He parks the chair outside of the splash zone and guides Wheeler down onto the plastic surface. She is wrapped in a big blue and red plaid blanket. Harrington fishes a pack of Parliaments out of his back pocket and sits down next to her.

He's the length of the pool away, but when Harrington sparks his lighter and leans his face into the flame, his features soft and golden offset with the darkness of his eyes and the swoop of his hair, something vicious unfurls in Billy's stomach. He swims over, feeling like a shark as he slices through the water, feeling almost cold under the sudden, burning need to get Harrington off that lounger and into the pool and away from Wheeler.

“Harrington.” He looks up, smoke curling around his lips. Billy hooks his arms over the edge of the pool. Steam rises from his skin as he lazily flicks a few drops of water onto the other boy’s pant leg. “Get in the pool.” Steve shakes his head.

“Not in the mood for swimming. Besides,” he points his thumb over his shoulder, “someone’s gotta take care of this one. She’s a bit too far gone.”

“‘mnot a  _ baby,  _ Steve,” Wheeler slurs in the background.

“See? She’s fine. We’ll all be right here watching her, anyway.” Billy leans further over the edge and drops his voice to a register that’s probably a bit too syrupy considering how many people are within earshot, but to hell with it. “Come swim with me, Stevie.”

Steve goes rigid for a second but shakes his head again. “Sorry, man. Can’t.”

“Fine,” Billy relents with a heavy sigh. He glances up at Steve through his wet lashes. “Let me take a drag of that, then?” and gestures for the cigarette. Steve gets up from the lounger and crouches down by Billy. 

There’s something so mouthwatering about having a fully dressed Steve Harrington hovering over him while Billy himself is completely naked and has to crane his neck to meet his eyes, and yet Steve seems to be the nervous one. It drives Billy nuts, the way Harrington seems oblivious to how much power he could have over Billy, how much Billy would let him take if he wanted to.

Billy’s right arm shoots out of the water and wraps around Steve’s free wrist. Steve freezes and locks his body, doesn’t give an inch of slack. Billy grins and tightens his grip, pulls lightly, teasing. They both know Harrington would already be in the pool if Billy really wanted him there. This is more for show, and maybe to make Steve realize that he  _ wants  _ to be in the pool. Billy lifts himself a bit further out of the water on nothing but Steve’s arm. He can feel the other boy’s muscles starting to shake with exertion but he doesn’t push him off or move back. Steve lets Billy hoist himself out of the water, inch upon agonizing inch of wet skin getting lashed by the freezing air.

Billy gestures with his head for Steve to bring the cigarette over, which he does. He reaches his hand towards Billy’s mouth, touches the filter to his lips without releasing it. And Billy, being the greedy child that he is, wraps his mouth just that little bit too far around the filter. He normally hates sloppy smokers, but it’s worth the little gasp Steve lets out when soft lips brush against dry fingertips.

“Thanks.” The word sounds heavy and smothered in more than just smoke.

“Sure.” Steve slowly lowers Billy back into the pool, the water feeling almost too hot now, and then Billy has no choice but to release him. The edge of Steve’s sweatshirt sleeve has turned dark from where Billy put his wet hand on it. It will feel cold for the rest of the night. Unless he takes it off and gets in the fucking pool.

Steve doesn’t take off his sweatshirt. He turns around and gets back on the lounge chair with Nancy goddamn Wheeler. And where the rejection alone already stings like nobody’s business, Billy is not prepared for the sudden punch to the gut when Steve hands the cigarette over to Wheeler.

He’s dizzy and cold as he twists around and swims back to the other side of the pool where Byers and Buckley are timing each other to see who can stay under the longest, blood suddenly pounding in his brain. Angry words slip through his mind, hissing like snakes. What does she have that he doesn't? Other than a body made of bird bones and perky little tits and a pussy and a lifetime of history together. Billy reaches the end of the pool again. Fuck this pool. Billy needs the ocean more than ever, needs very much to just keep swimming and never having to turn back around. 

It rips something open inside of him, the sight of the two of them curled up on the lounger. The worst pain is having to admit how good they look together, their bodies fitted around each other. Natural. Right.  _ Dear Christ, he's so straight. Why am I even here? He still wants her. They were together for almost a year, he took her virginity for God’s sake. Of course he still wants her. Doesn’t matter if she wants him or not, doesn’t matter if she’s with Byers. You know perfectly well that a person doesn’t need to be available to take over your every thought, don’t you Billy? _

He needs a drink. He needs to punch someone. He needs to not be in this pool, at this party. Everything suddenly goes sideways and the nervous undercurrent of dread he’s been riding since Eleven cornered him outside the bathroom tips him into the abyss.

_ He has never looked at you like that, he’s never been so relaxed. Doesn’t matter that he blushes when you stare at him, doesn’t matter that he makes stupid big gestures for you. He’s a good guy who cares about his friends, and sooner or later he’ll learn that caring about you is a bad investment. There’s nothing to be gained from you. Even if he would ever be so stupid as to want you, he’ll never pick you as long as he can have someone better. You make him nervous, sure. But she makes him happy. Look at them. You can’t give him that. You can’t give anyone that. You don’t know how. _

***

It takes Billy over half an hour to get himself dried off and back into his clothes after he sneaks out of the pool and into the house, a towel wrapped around his waist and his clothes balled up against his chest. He locks himself in the downstairs bathroom and it takes every ounce of willpower he has left to not go wake up Max.

It’s almost three in the morning and she’s sharing the basement with all her little friends, he’d never get in and out unnoticed. It would be complete chaos if the kids caught him waking her up for... what? To talk him down from this ledge he suddenly found himself on? She’s not his therapist, she’s his fourteen-year-old sister, and she doesn’t even know about Billy and his bullshit feelings for Steve fucking Harrington. But he can’t stay here either, in this bathroom or in this house. He needs to get out.

“Billy? Where are you going?” Steve catches him by the front door while he’s pulling on his leather jacket.

“Don’t feel good. Not used to smoking anymore, I think I maybe had too much,” he mumbles without making eye contact.

“But- I mean, where are you gonna go? Hey, wait a second, I thought you were all staying over? We have more than enough guest rooms, you can lie down for a bit or just go to sleep. The party won’t run much longer, everyone’s out of the pool anyway…”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m gonna head home. Need to sleep in my own bed. Susan will be by in the morning to pick up Max.”

“How are you going home? Did you drive here? You really shouldn’t drive if you’re not feeling well-”

“In what car, Harrington?” Billy snaps a bit too sharply and Steve’s eyes go even wider, hurt and confused. “It’s fine, Susan dropped us off so I’ll just leg it home. Look, thank you for the party, but I really need to walk it off and sleep in my own room tonight. Okay?”

“Okay…” He drawls it out and gives Billy an unsure look. “Are you, though? Okay?”

_ Not even close. _

“Yeah, I’m good.” It comes out sounding every bit like the lie it is, and for a wild second Billy thinks Steve will stop him. He’s not sure he would let him, right now he might even take a swing, he’s so wound up, but it would be nice to feel him care, even for just a second.

“If you say so.” Steve sighs. “You’re absolutely sure you don’t want to stay?”

“Positive.” And Jesus, where does _he_ get the right to look disappointed? Billy is the one stepping out into the darkness with his heart in tatters and a head full of voices. _You don’t get to make that face at me._ _You’re still letting me leave, pretty boy. Just tell me you want me to stay._

“Okay. Be safe, don’t cut through the woods.” He hesitates for a second. “And like... call me? Or drop by the store, I’m working again starting Thursday.”

Yeah. Okay. Happy New Year, Steve,” he croaks out and pulls the front door open. His hair is still wet and the cold night air is unforgiving as he steps out. He feels Steve’s eyes on him all the way down the driveway.

* * *

“Okay but  _ why  _ did you let him  _ leave,  _ though?” Robin kicks the bedroom door shut behind her and throws her wet towel into the overflowing hamper.

“Weren’t you listening? I  _ tried,  _ man, I offered like three times. I couldn’t very well tie him up.”

“You could have called for my help, I’d have gladly gone to fetch my handcuffs.”

“ _ So  _ not helpful right now, Buckley,” Steve bristles as he rips his sweatshirt off. The sleeve is still damp. He kicks off his jeans and pulls on his sweatpants, rummages through his closet for a clean t-shirt. He knows he probably smoked a bit too much, but the weirdly sour note at the end of the night means he won’t get a wink of sleep without popping a pill on top of it. He’s gone without for a few days now, but he can feel the anxious fluttering in his chest that means natural sleep will pass him by tonight.

“Well, did something  _ happen _ ?”

“Are you asking me if I did something to fuck it up?”

“I very specifically avoided that phrasing.”

“No,  _ Robin,  _ I didn’t  _ do  _ anything.”

“That’s not what I asked, I asked if something happened to make him suddenly pack up and leave when he seemed to be having a pretty great night.”

“He tried to get me into the pool and I said no, that’s all.”

_ “Why didn’t you get in the pool?!” _

“Okay, first of all, lower the volume, Nancy and Jonathan are asleep down the hall.”

“They’re both so stoned they’d sleep through an alien invasion.”

“Second, you know why I didn’t get in the pool, I  _ hate  _ that pool.  _ Nancy  _ hates that pool. Barb  _ died  _ in it and it was our fault and I just fucking couldn’t, okay? It took a lot to even just sit by it tonight because it all felt so much like that night and I had to make sure it didn’t happen again. I have to live in this house every day, I’ve been looking out my window every day for  _ two years  _ at a spot where a monster came out of nowhere and made a girl disappear and she died all alone in another world. That pool is  _ evil  _ and I’m trying to get over it by filling it with normal moments but I’m just  _ not there yet.  _ You guys can swim all you want but you have to let me keep you safe, okay?” Steve takes a shuddering breath when he realizes he’s shouted himself to the verge of crying.

“Okay, Stevie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Robin whispers. “So Billy wanted you to swim? Did you get mad at him, did you guys fight?”

“No. He just messed with me a bit, acting like he was gonna pull me in. Then he suddenly wasn’t there anymore. I had to talk Nancy through a bit of a freakout and by the time I looked up he was gone. I caught him at the door but he was all sad and distant and nothing I said was the right thing so he took off. So  _ yes _ , I guess I fucked something up.”

“So talk to him. Go see him tomorrow or Thursday when everyone has sobered up and explain to him about the pool. Tell him what you just told me. He’s smart enough, he’ll understand. We all have our own bullshit trauma-”

“Please don’t say bullshit right now.”

“Sorry. We all have our own trauma and sometimes it blinds us to each other. Even if we know each others stories, sometimes we just forget because we’re dealing with our own. But then you have to open your mouth, okay? You have to let us know when you’re in trouble, flag someone down, remind us of these things. It was a rough night for everyone, what with the fireworks and having a lot of people around. Something was bound to hit the fan. Sounds to me like you and Billy both should’ve opened your big dumb mouths a bit sooner and  _ told someone,  _ but what’s done is done. All that we can do now is get some sleep and fix it in the morning.”

“What if I can’t fix this? You didn’t see his face, Robin, he looked…”  _ Lost _ . Robin sighs and pulls Steve down on the bed next to her. He rests his head against her shoulder and she winds her fingers into his hair.

“You’re not that far gone, okay? Not yet. Nothing was unforgivable, you just have to tell him.” She pulls at his hair until he has to lift his head and look at her. “Do you hear me? Tell him. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah. I do.” He lowers his head into his hands. “I shouldn’t have let him leave. Shit.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Robin falls backwards onto her pillow with a sigh. "How is it possible that we have broken into a secret underground base, been held captive by Russians, threatened with torture and  _ literal death _ , fought an interdimensional monster with fireworks, and your love life is  _ still  _ the most stressful thing to happen to me all year?"

“Shut up.” Steve mirrors Robin and drops back into his pillow. The back of his head hits something hard. “Ow. The fuck.” He reaches under and pulls something out. “Buckley, are you leaving tapes in my bed now? Clean up after yourself, would you?”

“As if that’s mine, don’t blame me for your pigsty of a room, Harrington.”

“Oh... my God?”

“What? It is, and it’s been like that for as long as I’ve known you. You’re a messy bitch, Stevie.”

“Robin.” Steve elbows her hard. “Please read this, tell me if I’m losing my mind.” He hands her the tape in the case, the insert scribbled all over with pen.

“ _ Steve Harrington’s heavy metal Christmas miracle mix. From B.  _ Holy fucking SHIT, are you KIDDING me?” Robin shrieks. 

Steve covers his face with his hands and rolls away from her, blushing so brightly it feels almost like a fever. He buries his face in his pillow while a million thoughts wash over him at once.  _ Billy has been in my room. Billy hid a Christmas present in my room. Why didn’t he just give it to me? Fucking Christ, did Billy Hargrove actually make me a mixtape? What the fuck does that mean? What’s on it? When did he make it? When did he put it in here? So why did he leave tonight, then? Did he still want me to have it by the time he left? Oh my God, what is on it, what is on it? Heavy metal? Am I gonna like it? Did he make me a list of his own favorites or did he pick songs he thinks I would like? What does any of this mean? Oh fuck I’m gonna die. _

“Steve, are you okay?” Robin whispers, her voice thin and on the verge of another squeal.

“What kind of a question is that?” he replies muffled? “Do I look okay? Does this look okay to you? God, I think I’m having a stroke.”

“Do you want to listen to it?”

“No, I want to go downstairs and make a whole stack of pancakes. Give me that.” He snatches the tape out of her hand and rolls off the bed. He yanks New Order out of the tapedeck and slides Billy’s into the slot. Before hitting play he remembers to turn the volume down and climbs back onto the bed next to Robin. She grabs his shoulders and squeezes, screaming in the back of het throat.

A melodically wailing guitar shreds from the speakers, almost like a siren, but bright and not at all the angry kind of headbanger music Steve thought he was about to get. It’s still very much Billy’s kind of music, but there’s a fun tune to it and the singer has quite the range.

_ She's got eyes of the bluest skies _

_ As if they thought of rain _

_ I hate to look into those eyes _

_ And see an ounce of pain _

_ Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place _

_ Where as a child I'd hide _

_ And pray for the thunder and the rain _

_ To quietly pass me by _

_ Oh, oh, oh _

_ Sweet child o' mine _

_ Oh, oh, oh, oh _

_ Sweet love of mine _

“I like this one, what’s it called?” Robin says as she quietly nods along to the end of the song.

“Sweet Child Of Mine, by... I think it says Guns N Roses.”

“Never heard of it. It’s good, though. Ah! This sounds more like what I expected.” The second song is heavier, the beat vibrating and the guitars dragging out every note. The first thing that comes to Steve’ mind is  _ wet.  _

_ So c'mon, take a bottle, shake it up _

_ Break the bubble, break it up _

_ Pour some sugar on me _

_ Ooh, in the name of love _

_ Pour some sugar on me _

_ C'mon, fire me up _

_ Pour your sugar on me _

_ I can't get enough _

_ I'm hot, sticky sweet _

_ From my head to my feet, yeah _

“Oh my God, this is a sex song,” Robin wheezes.

“Shut your face, Buckley.”

“This is one hundred percent a sex song. Damn it, Harrington, your boy is  _ nasty.  _ Bet you anything he wants you to call him sugar.”

“I swear to God, if you don’t shut up right now-”

“You’ll what? Blush at me?” She snatches the case out of his hand. “Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard. Interesting choice of spelling. And interesting music choice on his part.” 

They make it through the next song without incident, other than Steve remarking how Twisted Sister’s We’re Not Gonna Take It should be Billy’s official theme song. Robin’s imitation of what she thinks headbanging is like is rather tragic but at least nobody wakes up and comes to investigate when she trips over her own shoes.

The next song, however, is Warrant’s Cherry Pie. And it’s another one of those obnoxious, overtly sexual metal songs. They’re both laughing like idiots now.

“He’s such a fucking cliché,” Steve chokes out.

“You’re into it, though.”

“God forgive me, I really am. Even if he gives me mixtapes with the most tacky stripper songs on it.”

“It is  _ so much  _ a stripper song. Bet you a million dollars this is playing in every strip club on the West coast right now.”

“A thousand strip clubs, and one Indiana bedroom. All vibing to the same music.”

Cherry Pie is followed by Quiet Riot’s Metal Health, which Robin  _ knows  _ for some reason, and Mötley Crüe’s Shout At The Devil, which they  _ both  _ know. Then there’s the last track on the A-side.

_ It's early morning, the sun comes out _

_ Last night was shaking and pretty loud _

_ My cat is purring, it scratches my skin _

_ So what is wrong with another sin? _

“Wait, I know this,” Steve blurts out.

“And how, pray tell, does preppy little Steve Harrington know a song called…” Robin peers at the scribbles on the paper insert in the case, “Rock You Like A Hurricane by a band named  _ Scorpions _ ?”

“I didn’t know the title or anything, but this is the same song Billy blasted every day for like the first two months when he was at Hawkins High.”

“Awwwww,” Robin coos.

“Fuck off.” He’s can’t help but smile.

“You remembered a  _ song  _ he played a  _ year  _ ago? That’s adorable.”

“He was  _ loud,  _ okay? The same song, all the time, at full volume, and with that car of his. You’d remember too.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was the  _ car  _ that made you pay attention. It took a week of working together for you to remember my name, but  _ Scorpions,  _ that’s a memory we wanna keep forever.”

_ Here I am _

_ Rock you like a hurricane _

_ Here I am _

_ Rock you like a hurricane _

“And can we just agree on one thing?” she asks.

“That it’s another sex song? Yeah, I’m very aware.”

“Also that. But I was gonna say that if Hargrove is gonna have an official theme song, it should be this. Like, I will play it whenever he enters a room from now on.”

“I’d say go for it, but the problem is that I know you would.”

“I really would. I kinda like the song, though. Will you copy the tape for me?”

“Not a fucking chance. Go find your own cute gross metalhead to make you mixtapes.”

The tape clicks off and Steve flips it to the B-side.

“Oh wow, that’s immediately very different,” Robin remarks. The song starts off with a dreamy keyboard and for about a minute it’s almost a ballad until the chorus kicks in.

_ Just another heart in need of rescue _

_ Waiting on love's sweet charity _

_ I'm gonna hold on for the rest of my days _

_ 'Cause I know what it means _

_ To walk along the lonely street of dreams _

_ And here I go again on my own _

_ Goin' down the only road I've ever known _

_ Like a drifter, I was born to walk alone _

_ And I've made up my mind _

_ I ain't wasting no more time _

_ But here I go again _

“Well, that was dramatic,” Steve grins. “But not bad. Thank you for that…” He checks the tracklist. “Whitesnake.”

“They all have really dumb names. Like, can we agree on that?”

“The next band is called Skid Row, so yes, absolutely.”

Turns out that I Remember You by Skid Row is a romantic power ballad that leaves both Steve and Robin kinda speechless.

_ I paint a picture of the days gone by _

_ When love went blind and you would make me see _

_ I'd stare a lifetime into your eyes _

_ So that I knew that you were there for me _

_ Time after time you were there for me _

_ Remember yesterday, walking hand in hand _

_ Love letters in the sand, I remember you _

_ Through the sleepless nights through every endless day _

_ I'd want to hear you say, I remember you oh oh _

Steve meets Robin’s gaze. She’s staring at him with her mouth wide open and her eyes shining with glee. He feels lightheaded, and not just from still being halfway stoned. Is he still stoned? Is that why this is happening?

They sit quietly through the next few songs. There’s the seemingly out-of-place addition of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway To Heaven but Steve fucking loves that song, it’s featured prominently on the mixtape Jonathan made Will for the party’s D&D nights. He hums along to every word.

It’s followed by Always Somewhere, which is another Scorpions song and another fucking ballad. Robin is practically vibrating next to Steve but neither of them say a word.

The next song, and the last one according to the track list, is Mötley Crüe’s Without You. And holy shit, is it dramatic. Dripping guitar solos, a crooning voice, and oh Christ the lyrics.

_ Without you in my life _

_ I'd slowly wilt and die _

_ But with you by my side _

_ You're the reason I'm alive _

_ But with you in my life _

_ You're the reason I'm alive _

_ But without you, without you _

“Wow. He’s really not one for subtlety, right?” Robin says as calmly and neutral as possible. Steve opens his mouth but he only lets out a meek squeal. “Well said.”

“Jesus fuck, Robin, what just happened? What does this  _ mean? _ ”

“Well, maybe I’m reading a bit too much into it, but I think that a mixtape with one side full of sex songs and another side full of mushy ballads means that this boy wants you to put your mouth on his mouth.” She pats his head. “But, y’know, that’s just my theory.”

_ “Hey Steve.” _

“What was that?”

“What the fuck?”

“Oh my God. Robin. Is that the  _ tape?” _

“Did he leave you a fucking  _ message?!” _

“Shut the fuck up, I can’t hear!”

“He did! He left a message! The gay gods be praised! Oh for fuck’s sake, he’s so dramatic,  _ I love it!” _

“Robin, I swear to all your gay gods, shut up before I smother you, I can’t hear anything!”

“Rewind it! Rewind it! I wanna hear too!”

“Then shut your trap!”

“He left a _ message, _ I am going to  _ faint!” _

Steve scrambles over to the stereo and rewinds the tape back to the last fading notes of Without You. Just to be sure, he clamps his hands over Robin’s mouth.

_ “Hey, Steve. Don’t freak out, it’s Billy. I don’t know when you’ll hear this, I probably won’t get this tape to you before New Years, but it is currently Christmas Eve and you just dropped me off at my house after giving me... well, probably the most meaningful gift I’ve ever gotten in my life. And I don’t just mean the car. See, I’ve been making this tape for you and I was really proud of it, wanted to share some good music with you. A few of my favorites, some old, some more recent, I like them all for different reasons. Figured that would be a good gift, but then you had to go and…”  _ A soft laugh.  _ “I honestly don’t know how to thank you. It almost pisses me off, because you know how much I like to win, pretty boy. So I’ll have to find a way to one-up you somehow. I’ve been writing letters as a part of my therapy. Apologies, amends, everything I need to say to certain people in my life. Tonight I handed over the first two, to Max and Susan. I have one for you as well, and it’s without a doubt the one that scares me the most. Not because I’m afraid that you won’t forgive me for all the shit I did to you, I already know you will because that’s the kind of person you are. It’s because every word is true. And I need you to ask me for that letter. I need you to know it exists and ask me for it, so that I can’t chicken out. There’s so much I need to tell you and it’s all in there. It’s not all gonna be good and maybe... maybe you’ll learn a few things about me. Maybe it’ll change things. It’ll definitely change things. But we’ve both been changing for a while now and I’m not mad at where the road has taken me so far. I’m not sure I’m deserving of the gift you gave me tonight, but that guy in the letter? He really wants to be worthy. You might have to coax him out of hiding because he’s been gone for a long time, but y’know, he’s already making you mixtapes and buying cheese puffs for your weird friend in the hopes that she’ll approve of him too. So I have hope. Merry Christmas, Steve. Or happy New Year. Hope you like your mixtape.” _

The tape clicks off and Robin screams into Steve’s hand.

“He still didn’t say it!” she yells as soon as she’s pried Steve’s fingers away from her mouth. “Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? A mixtape with a message at the end and  _ still  _ no one is man enough to just come out and say  _ I love you _ ? What’s a girl gotta do to get some goddamn  _ transparency  _ around here? I am going to kill both of you and then myself!”

“If you are done being dramatic, can we maybe address  _ my  _ heart attack real quick?” Steve yells over her.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, yes, let’s do that, but you have to let me yell because my gay soul can’t take this!”

“How do you think  _ I  _ feel?”

* * *

It is 4:03 AM when a shivering, soaking wet Billy Hargrove leans over Susan Mayfield’s bed and shakes her awake to ask her to drive him to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T SHOOT. I swear I am going somewhere with this. There will be a point.


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It will be okay, I swear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this bitch kinda forgot she had two weeks of training courses at work and that cut SEVERELY into my writing time. Yay, excuses all around! I am genuinely sorry that my posting schedule is such a mess, I'm trying to get my ass back in gear but life just isn't cooperating at the moment.  
> I'd say, enjoy a seriously overdue chapter, and come wallow in drama with me. I’ve been listening to a lot of girl in red and flor and King Princess while writing this so that’s like PEAK dramatic gay mood. Consider this your one and only warning.

Billy has a real problem with authority. He knows this. It’s high on his too-long list of flaws, right behind lack of self control, overly competitive, and mommy issues. So when Steve tells him not to cut through the woods on his way home, he heads right for the trees at the end of the Harrington’s driveway.

The walk home is long, dark, and miserable. He stumbles along, tripping over roots and slipping on half-frozen patches of mud. The bit of moonlight that filters through the treetops does nothing for visibility, only makes the shadows stretch out longer and darker and more claw-like. He’s freezing cold, his wet hair feeling like a vice around his skull. Not nearly cold enough to silence the voices, though.

_ What did you expect? This story was always gonna end in tragedy. Everything about you is wrong, always has been. Faulty child. Wrong body, wrong brain, wrong thoughts. Nobody was surprised when you hosted a monster because you were never that far off to begin with. _

“Shut up,” he breathes out into the freezing air.

_ People keep taking you in out of pity, and you never understand why because you don’t understand kindness. Poor little Billy, never had a chance. Then the clock starts ticking, waiting for you to break everything, to prove you don’t want their chances. You’re only happy when you’re ripping good things to shreds. _

“Shut up.” It’s a sob now. Vision pulsing to the beat of his heart, too fast, too fast. Ragged breath that tastes like cold metal.

_ Think about it. What could you ever offer a boy like Steve Harrington? You’re a charity case nutjob and even his savior complex isn’t big enough to keep you afloat. And he doesn’t need to. He has people he belongs with and there’s no room for you. Where do you belong, Billy? Who needs you? Who wants you around? _

“SHUT UP!” His voice echoes back at him from the nothing between the trees. The wind rustles and it sounds like hissing. The wet, dead leaves under his feet make every footstep heavy, a sopping sound that is too close to slithering. Does he hear laughter? Where is he? Is he falling? Plant your feet, Hargrove, plant your fucking feet. 

_ You know the answer, Billy. You know where you belong. I’m waiting. _

He yanks the knife out of his boot with numb fingers and flips it open. The world is a million different shards of darkness jabbing at him. He spins around, feels the wind coming at him from every direction. The night keeps getting darker, or is that his vision clouding over? It’s getting harder to breathe. Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, please don’t pass out…

He stumbles forward, two, three steps. Then he breaks into a run.

***

Running. Never looking over his shoulder. A death grip on the knife. His lungs ache, his sides burn, his face is streaked with tears. The salt of it burns in the tiny cuts from crashing through bushes and catching swinging branches in his face. Never slowing down. Keep running.

It feels like days have passed, but when he finally barrels out of the trees and onto a road, he’s two streets away from Cherry. He raises a trembling arm and pushes his sleeve back to look at his watch. 3:29. A nameless hour. Out in the open like this, the freezing air latches on to the quickly cooling sweat and as soon as he leans forward to retch, he starts to shiver. Can’t stop here, keep going, almost home.

The street still smells like fireworks. Most of their neighbours left the burned-out corpses of rockets and roman candles scattered across their lawns like so many dead things and it smells like summer and his own death all over again. He pukes up a mouthful of foam and bile in Mrs Heston’s driveway.

He almost slips on the porch steps, juggles his keys between his frozen fingers until he finally slips the right one into the lock. The house is dark and quiet, the only light is coming from the living room where the Christmas tree is still lit up. Susan must have left the lights on when she went to bed. He stands in the dark hallway with his forehead pressed against the door for a minute before he starts peeling off his leather jacket.

He sees it when he turns around. It’s clear as day, but also impossible. Backlit by the soft gold light of the tree, Neil Hargrove steps out of the shadows and slowly advances towards Billy.

_ Look at what you did, boy. By what right are you still alive? You call me a monster, but which one of us has blood on their hands? I knew what you were, I’ve always known. You’re twisted up inside. I should have beaten it out of you. Should have put you down like a dog when I had the chance. _

Neil doesn’t speak, but Billy hears his voice in his head clear as a bell. He can’t make a sound. Presses his back against the door, shrinks down as his dead father comes closer and closer.

_ Look at what you did. Look at what you did. LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID. _

As Neil rushes towards him and pulls back his fist, Billy finally lets out a strangled scream and drops to the floor. He covers his head with his arms but the hit never comes. When he peeks out from under his hands, the hallway is empty and Billy is alone again, curled up against the door.

Somewhere, he finds the strength to push himself back up to his feet. He claws his way along the wall to the bathroom.

Cold. So cold. It likes cold. Need to warm up. Burn it out. Make it stop.

The light in the bathroom is painfully bright. Billy rips off his cold, damp clothes and cranks the little electric heater all the way up. Leaves the knife on the sink with his watch and rings, only the necklace stays on. He reaches behind the curtain into the tub, twists the tap as hot as it can go and blindly slams the plug into the drain.

He slinks down onto the toilet lid. Lowers his head into his hands. In the warm room he can suddenly smell the cloud of chlorine still clinging to his skin and hair. Heat and pool water is just as bad as fireworks. He needs to get it off him before he rips his fucking skin off.

Steam is starting to billow out from behind the curtain. He can hear the water rushing down, filling the tub, almost hot enough to boil him alive. He slides the plastic sheet back.

She’s still in her lifeguard uniform. Floating in the tub, surrounded by steam, her dark curls dancing around her head like Medusa’s snakes. Her eyes flutter open and find his. He whimpers, drops to the floor and scampers back until his back hits the cabinet, almost reaches out for her. She rises up like a vengeful mermaid, clamps her hands around the edge of the tub.

_ So much pain, Billy. And for what? You can’t make this right again. The dead don’t care that you’re sorry. _

“Please leave me alone.” His voice is barely more than breath, drowning in his own tears. Heather leans closer to him.

_ We can’t leave. We’re stuck here with you. Please, Billy, you shouldn’t be here. The hurt will never stop as long as you’re here. Billy, I begged you to stop but you didn’t listen. You have to listen to me now, Billy. Please stop. _

“Get out,” he hisses, anger coiling up through the fear and heartbreak. Heather pulls back and slowly rises up until she’s standing in the tub, the vibrant red of her bathing suit a wound against the white tiles. 

Water rolls off her in little waves. The surface of the tub ripples when the droplets hit it and suddenly bloom like black flowers, like someone is rinsing out a paintbrush. The room is shrinking, Billy is shrinking, and Heather is getting bigger and bigger, perched in the tub with the walls closing in around her. She keeps bleeding out water, black as night. It rises to the edge of the tub, threatening to spill onto the floor, and Heather looms over Billy, ten feet tall and silent with eyes full of pity and blame.

He twists around to grab his knife from the edge of the sink. Turns back. Slashes right through the shower curtain. The world snaps back into focus. Heather is gone and the water is clear. There’s no sound except for the running water and his own ragged breathing.

Shaking, he shuts off the tap. He pulls himself up to the edge and swings his legs into the tub. Nearly screams when the heat bites into him like a million red-hot needles. He lowers himself into it an inch at a time, stifling sobs all the way down. Every inch of scar tissue feels white-hot as if the new, thin skin will blister and bubble away. He can see it, his husk dissolving in the heat, his insides unraveling, the sense of being undone and sliding down the drain.

He closes his eyes as he brings his arms in and slides down lower, lets his head hang back until his curls go heavy and the heat singes his scalp. His hands burn. God, do they burn. He knows they must look completely fiery red and raw, they feel like they’re about a second away from weeping blood. The scars are less noticeable on his hands because there’s hardly a spot that didn’t get torn up. At some point the damage just bled together and pretty much all the skin there is new. Doesn’t take away what they did, though. Evil resides in the bones. The steaming surface of the water closes around his throat.

He feels the presence this time, knows he won’t be alone when he opens his eyes. 

He’s still not prepared to see his mother sitting on the edge of the tub.

“Mom,” he whimpers, “Please don’t-” She shushes him and he’s seven years old again. He was home from school with a fever. Dad was at work. For one fleeting moment the house felt safe, and not even being sick and miserable could dull that fleeting bliss. She tucked him into bed and didn’t leave his side all day. Read him stories and wiped the sweat-damp curls from his forehead with a wonderfully cool hand. She smelled like limes and incense and the beach and she loved only him in the whole world.

She looks exactly the way she does in his memories, white dress and yellow sandals and sun-kissed skin. She looks the way he knows isn’t real. And yet, when she reaches over to pat his hand he almost wishes he would feel something.

_ Maybe you were never one of them to begin with. Maybe you belong in the dark and you simply got lost here. Maybe you just need to come home. _

“You’re not real. Leave me alone.” He slips down lower into the tub.

_ Come home, baby. I promise you’ll find me there. _

“Go away.” The water is past his lips now.

_ Just let go. _

He goes under. The voices cut out and his head fills with static. He settles on the bottom and waits for everything to stop.

***

When he shoots out of the water, lungs burning, gulping for air, there is finally silence. He pulls himself over the edge and lands on the floor with a wet thud. There he stays until he’s able to pull a towel from the cabinet and wrap himself in it.

His skin is singed pink from the hot water but he’s still shivering. He leaves wet footprints all the way down the hall to Susan’s bedroom. He’s nearly shaking out of his skin as he pushes the door open. He can see the shape of her under the covers, hears her breathing. Carefully he leans over her.

“Susan?” He shakes her shoulder.

“Hmm.”

“Susan.” A bit louder.

“Billy?” Her voice is immediately alert. There’s a rustling of sheets and then the light on the bedside table clicks on. Susan sits bolt upright and stares at him with wide eyes. “It’s four in the morning, honey, why are you home? I thought you had a sleepover. Why are you all wet? Please tell me you didn’t walk home.”

He opens his mouth to start explaining to his stepmom why he’s sat on the edge of her bed in nothing but a towel when he’s supposed to be at a party three miles across town, but instead he just starts crying. Loud and bawling like he hasn’t let himself in years. An entire dam cracks open somewhere inside him and suddenly he’s blinded with tears and desperately gasping for air in between sobs.

Susan pushes her covers back and grabs him by his shoulders, pulls him in. He tips over like a felled tree, collapses against her, buries his wet face in the sleeve of her nightgown. She wraps her arms around him in the tightest, fiercest hug and that makes him cry even harder.

She doesn’t ask any more questions. She just holds him, cradles his head against her shoulder, rocks them together while she gently combs through his wet hair with her fingers. He wonders if all mothers instinctively know how to do that or if someone taught both his mom and Susan the same tricks.

She lets him cry himself out until his breathing evens out and he’s able to form words.

“Talk to me, honey.” She gently moves him back so she can look him in the eyes. Her face is soft but full of worry. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to drive me to the hospital,” he croaks out.

“To the hospital? Did something happen? Are you hurt?” She tenses. “Is Max okay?”

“Max is okay, she’s sleeping at Steve’s. I‘m not hurt, I just... I had to come home.” The sobs start up again. “I need to go. Please. I don’t feel good.”

And Susan, bless her, catches on to what he means.

“You don’t feel good. Does that mean body or mind?” She pushes the dripping hair out of his face. He stares at a point over her shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at her when he replies, 

“Mind.”

She lets out a heavy sigh like her heart aches for him, too, and carefully pulls him closer again.

“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you dressed and then I’ll drive you. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get you through this.”

It’s not a promise she can make, he knows that. But he still lets her dry his tears like he believes her. Then he lets her wrap him in clean clothes and help him pack a bag and usher him into the car. He pretends to be asleep as soon as they pull out of the driveway.

* * *

Steve wakes up to the sound of his kitchen being demolished by a gang of chimpanzees. There’s shrieking, pots being banged around, and apparently one of the monkeys worked out how to turn on a radio. Cyndi Lauper should never be played before noon, he decides.

Something clatters to the floor. Someone hollers “Damnit, Lucas!”

Steve sits up and blearily rubs his eyes, scratches at his disastrous bedhead. Christ, is he thirsty. His tongue feels like a strip of beef jerky in his mouth. The alarm clock flashes 9:13 at him.

Somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, fragments of last night’s party begin to resurface. He remembers going to bed with the oddest sense of nervous happiness and a dozen different songs stuck in his head. He notices an empty tapecase sitting on top of his stereo and little by little more memories come tiptoeing in until suddenly  _ bam  _ he’s lying on his back in this massive pool of  _ Billy Billy Billy  _ and oh God was that real? Did he really make him a mixtape? Did Steve imagine the message?

He’s ripped out of his moment of half-joy half-panic by the sound of more clattering and giggling coming from downstairs.

“Make them stooooop,” Robin moans next to him, voice muffled through the pillow she’s pulled over her head.

“You go, it’s your turn.” He drops back down and rolls over onto his side. Maybe he’ll go back to sleep and wake up in a week when someone else has dealt with the chaos.

“I never wanted kids, stop forcing me to take over your parental responsibilities.”

“It’s not as if I  _ planned  _ on being a single parent right out of high school, these things happen. I need you to be a supportive partner.” Robin smacks him in the head with her pillow as a reply.

Several cabinets get slammed with so much force that is  _ has  _ to be on purpose.

“Listen to that,” Robin sighs. “A cautionary tale for anyone who would ever consider having children. Harrington, I’m gay and a virgin and they make  _ me  _ want to go on the pill.  _ Please  _ go reign in your brood, I’m  _ begging  _ you.”

Downstairs, the phone starts ringing, adding to the pandemonium. Steve and Robin groan in unison. Running footsteps and then Dustin hollers up at them from the bottom of the stairs,

“Steeeeeve! Phooooone!”

“That’s your cue, mom of the year.” Robin shovels her eternally-cold feet under him and tips him out of his bed.

“Don’t wanna.” He gets up anyway.

“Better run and pick up, might be your parents calling.”

“We both know it’s not gonna be them,” Steve snaps, a little too sharply because Robin knows why it won’t be them, why they’re never here, and yeah Steve is  _ fine  _ with it, sure, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t like to maybe hear his mom’s voice sometimes.

He thunders down the stairs on bare feet, spins around Dustin who greets him with “happy nineteen-eighty-six, Steve my man” and ignores the alarming quantity of flour spilled down his front _(worry about that later)._

He reaches the phone on the tenth ring. He can see into the kitchen from here and decidedly turns his back on the scene of five middle schoolers pouring pancake batter into  _ multiple pans at once.  _ He trusts they know how to work a fire extinguisher better than he does.

“Harrington residence, this is Steve.” Dial tone. “Goddamnit.”

“They’ll call back if it’s urgent,” Dustin smiles his eternal smile. “It’s probably just your parents to wish you a happy New Year and to serve you another excuse for never being home. Right, Steve?”

“What are you hobbits up to in my kitchen?” he replies gruffly. Dustin means well, but he has all the tact of a charging bull.

“Breakfast. Duh.” Mike has batter in his hair and he wields the ladle as if it’s a deadly weapon.

“I wanted eggos,” Eleven pouts sitting cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen table.

“You always want eggos,” Mike points out and okay that’s fair.

“Just wait until you get a bite of a chocolate chip pancake  _ smothered  _ in maple syrup. You won’t touch another eggo ever again in your  _ life. _ ” Max is sprinkling chocolate chips into a half-baked pancake.

“No way, banana pancakes are the superior breakfast food.” Dustin gestures at another pan. “You have to taste mine. Trust me, I’ve been making these for myself and my mom since I was ten, I know what I’m doing.”

“Your pancake is burning, Dustin,” Will calmly points out from where he’s sitting on the counter, eating frosted flakes right out of the box. Steve whips around the stove and snatches the now smoking pan from the burner.

“Whoops.”

“It’s fine,” Steve sighs and grabs a fork to scrape the charred remains of banana pancake onto a plate and runs the pan under the tap. Smoke billows up to the ceiling. “Someone open a window before we set off the smoke alarm. Dustin, get your ass over here.”

“I know how to make pancakes, Steve-”

“Yeah, well, looks like you have room for improvement, dumbass.” He finishes wiping down the pan and whips the dish towel over his shoulder. “Here, I’ll show you.”

The phone rings again just as Steve’s scooping a fresh ladle of batter into the pan.

“Son of a- Max, could you please get that?” he yells over the radio playing Safety Dance and the kids hooting at Lucas and Mike dancing like the absolute dorks they are. Max makes a sound of protest, but still gets up and tosses her fork onto the counter where she had been sharing her chocolate-chip-and-maple-syrup monstrosity with Eleven. The latter immediately stabs the rest of the sugary concoction onto her fork and shovels the whole thing into her mouth.

“Oh, come on, El!”

“I’ll make a new one!” she mumbles around her mouthful of pancake and glances back at Steve with her most innocent face. There’s syrup dripping down her chin. Steve sighs and slaps a second scoop of batter into the pan.

“You wanna add the chocolate chips?” She nods with the brightest smile.

“Eh, Harrington residence? Steve can’t come- mom?”

The kitchen screeches to a halt at that word and six heads lean out to look at Max who is standing just beyond the kitchen door, giving a confused shrug and pointing at the telephone, mouthing ‘my mom’. An uncomfortable feeling slowly settles in Steve’s stomach and then clamps down all at once. Something is wrong.

“Mom, what’s the matter, why do you sound like that?” Steve looks on helplessly as Max’s face slips from confusion to shock to something so close to heartbreak that she turns around and retreats further down the hall, as far away from the kitchen as the chord will let her. “But how? He was supposed to be here last night. I don’t understand- ” Her voice catches on a sob and then she’s quiet for a long time.

“Steve? What-” Dustin whispers.

“I don’t know.” It feels like a lie. He turns off the stove with stiff fingers, knowing there won’t be any more pancakes today. There’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head and he turns around to see Eleven staring at him in that way that means she’s looking for something you don’t want her to find. When Steve, in the harsh light of a hungover morning, finally fully remembers the scene of a disconnected and upset Billy leaving his house in the middle of the night, Eleven’s eyes grow wide.

“Okay. Can you come pick me up, please?” Max sounds so small as she ends the call, but then she slams the horn on the receiver and steps back into the kitchen, shaking all over and tears shining in her eyes.

“That was my mom. She... Last night-” She gulps for air and stares at a point somewhere on the kitchen counter, avoids everyone’s gaze as she blurts out, “Billy is back in the hospital.”

You can hear a pin drop in the kitchen. No one even breathes as Max spits out words, tears spilling over and voice getting heavier as she goes on.

“He went home last night- I don’t know why, we were supposed to sleep here. He- he walked all the way back and I guess he had some sort of... episode, or a relapse. All she could tell me is that he was completely out of it and he asked her to take him to the hospital. The doctors just saw him and…” She chokes on a sob, “And he’s getting readmitted.”

“Shit, Max, I’m sorry-” Lucas takes a step towards his girlfriend but stops when she whirls around towards Steve.

“When did he leave?” She asks with so much incredulity in his voice. “Did he sneak out? I thought you guys were all celebrating together, how did you lose him?”

“We didn’t lose him,” Steve says quietly, and as he says it he feels the depth of his mistake. “I saw him leave. He wanted to go home, so I let him.”

“You…” Max gasps for breath like a fish on dry land.  _ “Why did you let him leave?” _

“I tried to make him stay, but he was dead-set on leaving. Max, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for-”

“No!” She starts pacing around the kitchen now, her red hair sailing behind her like a flag. “No, no, no, don’t give me that shit! You let him go and now he’s back in the hospital! How could you  _ let him leave,  _ Steve? I thought you were his friend! You know what he’s been through, you of all people should not have let him walk out the door on his own in the middle of the night! Why did he even leave? What happened last night?  _ What the fuck happened to my brother? _ ”

“He... Something upset him, I don’t know what. We were all pretty out of it but when I saw him leave, it was clear he wasn’t feeling well. I tried to make him stay but he kept saying he wanted to go home.”

“ _ So you just let him? _ ”

“What’s with all the screaming?” Robin appears in the doorway. “Whoa, Max, hey, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay.” She furiously wipes away the tears streaking her face but keeps staring at Steve. “I just found out that my brother checked himself back into the hospital after walking home last night and having some kind of mental relapse, and apparently his so-called  _ friends  _ knew he wasn’t okay and they let him go anyway.”

Robin goes completely still. It’s the first time Steve has ever seen her speechless.

“Max, I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t know how bad it was.”

“I don’t care, you shouldn’t let someone run off into the dark when they’re going through shit. Especially not someone like Billy. No one is that stupid, not even you, Steve.”

“Whoa, hey.” Robin steps in. “You know that nobody meant for this to happen, Max. We shouldn’t have let Billy leave, but it’s not fair to blame Steve for what happened.”

“ _ I don’t care! _ ” Max screams. “He nearly  _ died  _ last summer and I just got him back! He’s been working  _ so hard  _ to get better and I trusted you all to take care of him, and then you just  _ lose  _ him!” She’s openly crying now, but her face is still hard with anger. “My mom is coming to pick me up. We’re going to the hospital. Nobody radio me for a few days, I need to be with my  _ family. _ ”

After Max has stomped down to the basement to grab her stuff and slammed the front door behind her, a painful silence settles over the Harrington house. It’s only broken when Robin gently ushers the kids towards the basement.

“You should all go pack your things. Nancy and Jonathan will take you guys home.” For once, they don’t protest.

Thirty minutes later the house is empty apart from Steve and Robin. They’re sitting side by side on Steve’s bed in silence, surrounded by the debris of so many ruined things.

There’s a lot Steve could say now. Why did he let Billy leave? Because he was stoned, because he was too tired to properly think, because he’s genuinely an idiot. The truth is too simple and too complicated: he let him leave because Steve had no idea how to make Billy stay. He barely has a grasp on his own bullshit issues and Billy, scars and all, is still stubborn as a mule. Steve remembers seeing Billy by the front door with all his walls back up and just feeling tired, defeated. Because when Steve looks at Billy he desperately wants to do the right things but he never finds a safe angle to approach him, always scared to make it worse. Should he have made him stay, or gone outside with him? Forced his presence on Billy when he wanted to be alone, because Steve Harrington Knows Best? He still can’t see a right answer, only a collage of different mistakes. So it is his fault, probably. Steve is paper and dry kindling and he doesn't know how to take care of a burning boy.

He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head against Robin’s shoulder. “So now what, huh? How do I un-fuck this?”

Robin wraps an arm around his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

* * *

The floors in the psychiatric ward of Hawkins Memorial are blue. It’s a nice change from all the white. Billy sits on the floor and pretends it’s water. He’s sailing back to California.

He’s a little loopy, but not completely knocked out. They gave him something to calm him down and he’s pleasantly tired now. Feels floaty.

Max was here a while ago. Susan too. Max cried a lot, said sorry about a thousand times. Why did she say that? It’s not her fault. Not anyone’s fault but Billy’s. He’s the one with a monster in his brain.

He told the doc what happened. She looked sad but kept saying it was okay. He’d had a relapse, it’s not uncommon, especially considering the amount of “triggers” he’d been around that night. Fireworks. A pool. So many people that were connected to the story.

The doc talks about a temporary stay in the psych ward, to “recalibrate” him. Clears her schedule so she can give him her full attention for a few weeks or until he “feels ready to take the next step again”. She uses words like relapse. Panic attack. Paranoid episode. Hallucinations. Thorazine. Ativan. Xanax. They all mean the same thing: she doesn’t get it. It doesn’t matter, though. As long as Billy can stay here, it’s okay.

Let them dope him up. Let them lock him in a room and throw away the key. Because the monster is alive, and it has found a door in Billy’s mind. It’s whispering through the crack, scratching to be let in. Let out. 

He can’t go back, not ever. Billy Hargrove is a timebomb and he will bury himself in pills and padded rooms before he ever hurts another person again. Let the world forget him. Let them all move as far away as possible. He’ll stay here, like this. It’s okay.

It’s okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad and tired and I'm taking everyone down with me.  
> (okay no this was actually planned, I make sad first so I can make happy later)  
> Also I am aware that a lot of the books and songs I’ve been namechecking weren’t out yet in 1985, but let’s all suspend our disbelief and pretend like Billy listens to Guns N Roses and the party reads Watchmen and they all play 5th edition D&D. Also there’s a playlist for the mixtape if anyone wants it.
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1xFPGUCWnAIjMRTI8iY2GM


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixtapes are in season, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ almighty I am so sorry y'all. This chapter just did NOT want to happen. Besides mental and physical health problems and having to deal with my own car crash of a love life, everything about this chapter was hard for me. I had to write myself out of a few corners but IT IS HERE and I am SO SORRY y'all had to wait this long for this nonsense. Bad me. Apologies.  
> I was in such a funk I didn't even get around to replying to comments because I'm a dumbass BUT I'll get to that asap because oh my God y'all, the comments make me cry and spazz out every time.  
> Also I swear I'll finish this fic SOMEHOW. It might take me way too long but I have it more or less fully planned out now and I promise I won't abandon my boys. Love you, mean it.

Steve will never claim to be an academic genius. Exhibit A through Z: his entire school career. But his brain does like to do this thing where it occasionally hyperfocuses on the most useless bits of trivia and anchors them deep in his mind. So as he’s sitting outside of Hawkins Memorial in his parked car like the world's most awkward P.I., he is reminded of a story about pirates someone must have told him a long time ago.

Pirate ships would fly a whole slew of flags other than the traditional skull and crossbones, and they all had different meanings. Flying a red flag meant that enemies would be shown no mercy. This is what Maxine Mayfield reminds him of when she spots his beemer across the snow-covered hospital parking lot and comes storming towards him with her hair streaming behind her and murder in her eyes.

She slams the flat of her palm against the driver’s side window and barely lets him roll it down before she spits at him,

"Get out of here."

"Max, please-"

"Don't even try. Just fuck off, man."

" _Please_ just listen to me, it's been almost a week."

"Yeah, and it's gonna be a good while longer."

"How much longer?"

"Until he's fixed. Or until I've forgiven you. Whichever takes the longest." God, it's easy to forget that she and Billy aren't technically related. They have the same switchblade tongue that will always slash at your freshest wounds when they're pissed.

He'd expected the bared teeth and claws, the angry growls. Max is nothing if not fiercely loyal, and when you mess with her _pack_ she's just this side of feral, hackles raised like she's truly more wolf than girl. She has closed ranks around her brother and in the tilt of her head Steve reads _try to go through me, I fucking dare you_.

"I'd like to see him. Just talk to him."

"Why? You need a reminder of how badly you fucked up?"

No. Steve doesn't need reminding. It's been the single, solitary thing on his mind for the last five days. He's almost gotten used to carrying the guilt in his back pocket, so easy to whip out and gut himself with. His new little daily routine of useless punishment.

He's back on a higher dose of anxiety meds. Didn't consult his doctor, just made the executive decision to pop an extra pill so he could at least somewhat function at work and not spend half the day hyperventilating in the employee bathroom. Let's just say that January 2nd had been the longest day of his life, every minute of his eight hour workday stretched thin over guilt and dread and helplessness.

He hasn't even tried to go to bed without popping a sleeping pill either. And Robin, because she's a better friend than he deserves, hasn't gone home in a week except to pick up clothes and to wish her mom happy new year, and even then she'd brought Steve along like he was a stray puppy with abandonment issues.

“I know I fucked up. I want to apologize.”

“He’s _in the hospital_ , Steve. Sorry isn’t gonna make that better.” There are cracks in the anger now. “Give me one good reason why I should ever let you near him again.”

“Because I think he asked me to.” Steve nervously cards his fingers through his hair, wondering how much he’s allowed to say before Max starts putting things together. “He... I have a tape from him. Billy gave me a mixtape for Christmas, left it for me at the party. I found it after he took off.”

“A mixtape.” She’s still angry, but Max’s eyes are now also wide with wonder. “Billy made you a _mixtape_.”

“Yeah. He did,” Steve says, wondering why he sounds like a nervous teenager caught passing notes in class. Max’s gaze weighs a ton, he can’t meet her eyes as the blood rises to his face. “He also left me a message at the end. Mentioned that he wrote me a letter. One of those therapy letters like he wrote to you. Told me to ask him for it because it would explain a lot. I figured that... considering what happened, maybe I should hold him to that. Because I clearly need to understand him better. I _want_ to understand. Not just because of what happened, I know I can’t undo that. But I want to get it right from here on out. I’ll need all the help I can get, we both know that.” He ends a little hesitant, a little too soft, a little too much of a lie. “I want to be his friend.”

Max is quiet for too long. She walks around the beemer and gets in on the passenger side without a word. Two minutes tick by on the dashboard clock while they just sit there, Steve staring out the windshield with his hands at two and ten on the wheel, furiously blushing under the burning stare of a teenage girl, and Max twisted sideways with her arms crossed and slowly torching Steve with her gaze. He can feel the anger being put on the back burner, though. Now it feels more like she’s studying him. Judging. Weighing and measuring.

“You care about him.” Not a question. A statement.

“I-” The word _friend_ gets stuck in his throat, won’t let him manoeuvre it back between his lips like a one-syllable shield. “...yeah. I do.” Steve gives up and hopes she can’t hear the actual weight of the admission he’s desperately trying to hide. Hopes she’ll fall for his reputation of sir Steve, protector of the weak and broken, and won’t try to dig deeper with that laser stare of hers. She’s so close to the cracks and tears, one breath and the truth will spill out all over the carpet.

The car feels too cramped. He can feel every thud of his heartbeat from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. _Please, please, please just let me be his friend. If nothing else, if it’s all I can get anymore, I’ll take that._

“Okay.”

_Huh_.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

_Just like that, huh?_

They sit next to each other in this strange, loaded silence until Max speaks again.

“He gave me a bunch of letters, you know. For the party and a few others.”

“I know. Dustin called me.”

“Dustin is such a gossip, I told him not to.”

“So…” Steve clears his throat. “Can I have mine?”

“No.”

“Max, c’mon-”

“I can’t give it to you because I don’t have it.” She turns to face him. “I’m not actually that much of a bitch, Steve. If Billy had given me a letter for you, I wouldn’t keep it. I handed out all the ones he gave me. He must still have yours.”

“Okay, but why?”

“I don’t know.” Max lets out an uneven sigh. “I didn’t like that he gave me those letters, though. He acted all weird about it. Way too calm, and I don’t know if it was because of the medication. He... he made it feel like he wasn’t gonna get a chance to hand them out himself. Like he’s never getting out of here.” She sniffles.

“He told me to ask him for my letter, that it’s personal. Maybe I should go get mine myself?”

“Is that why you’re out here in the snow like a stalker?”

“Well, I would have gone inside but _someone_ told the hospital staff to not give out Mr. Hargrove’s room number to anyone but his immediate family.”

“Ah. Right.” She doesn’t say sorry.

“But no, I was actually out here waiting for you. I thought you had all the letters. And I figured I needed to talk to you first anyway.”

“So a stalker after all. It’s cute that Lucas and Dustin take after you, _dad_.”

“Oh, shove it. I’m a million times more stealthy than those dorks.”

“Point taken. They’d be out here in camo, holding binoculars and talking code.” They share a fragile laugh and the iron grip around Steve’s chest loosens up a little.

“Max, I’m really sorry about what happened. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” She stares at her lap, fumbles at a strand of her hair. “Of course I know you didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did happen. So I had to be angry at you for awhile.”

“Yeah, I guess I deserved that. It’s also why I’m here now. To apologize. And maybe to start making things alright again between you and me.”

“Like how?” She doesn’t snap at him, it’s an honest question. He shrugs.

“I don’t know. That’s up to you, really. We hash this out, and then you can decide if you wanna trust me to be in your brother’s life again. That’s how this is gonna work.”

“Okay.” She distractedly bites at her thumbnail while she stares out the window and mulls the words over in her head. Outside, a light sprinkle of snow starts to add to the thick layer already covering the parking lot. “Okay, yeah, I actually do have something you can do for me.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s kind of amazing you mentioned mixtapes, really.” She hesitates. “I... I want to give Billy a tape. From everyone. And not just songs, although that’s nice too. I can’t be in there with him all the time and the doctors won’t let me bring the whole party over to see him, not yet anyway. I brought him his walkman and a few tapes yesterday and he seemed happy to have those, so I thought maybe I should make him one. And- and maybe it would be nice to have everyone help pick out songs, or leave him a message so he can hear our voices… so that he won’t forget we’re out here.” It says a lot about the kind of week Steve has had that he’s about ready to start crying at that.

“Yeah,” he rasps out. “Yeah, sure, I’ll help you with that. I can do that.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

He backs out of the parking spot and drives them to the house on Cherry road through the quietly falling snow.

***

They did a large chunk of the prep work over at Max’s that same night, because she already had a few songs picked out that she wanted to use. So Steve’s Monday evening consisted of him sitting on the floor of Max’s bedroom and listening to every tape she’d looted from Billy’s collection, plus her own, and whatever Steve had in the glove compartment of his car. Max vetoed a lot of Steve’s car tapes without even playing them ( _we are not putting Wham! on a mixtape for my brother, Steve_ ) but there was still a sizeable pile to comb through and more than enough songs for them to argue about. He never knew he had such strong opinions about Bruce Springsteen until he was arguing about Thunder Road vs Dancing In The Dark with a fourteen-year-old.

Susan popped in at some point, didn’t even blink at seeing her daughter’s babysitter-slash-chauffeur sitting cross-legged on the carpet surrounded by tapes and notebook paper, and asked if he wanted to stay for dinner. Apparently Max hadn’t told her mom about Steve’s involvement in Billy’s breakdown because Susan was nothing but kind to him.

Over dinner he also noticed how different Mrs Mayfield seemed without the shadow of Neil Hargrove hanging over her. Life hadn’t exactly gotten easier for her as a single mom with a teenage daughter and a deeply traumatized stepson, but she didn’t seem to buckle under any of it. There was a gentle, determined strength to her that came through now that she had room to breathe. It wasn’t hard to see where Max had gotten her iron spine.

They spent the rest of Monday evening working on outlining the tape and radioing the party to see who wanted to contribute. While Max was on her walkie talking to El, Steve found a Whitesnake tape in the pile. He’d been listening to Billy’s mix tape on repeat, knows it pretty much word for word by now. He likes the Whitesnake song. _Here I go again on my own_. On an impulse he’d slipped the Whitesnake tape between his own discarded tapes so he could listen to it later on his own, and he’d play it off like an accident tomorrow.

Later that night, Steve managed to -once again- trade his day off with Robin so he can have the whole Tuesday to hang out with teeny-boppers. Robin is the absolute best and doesn’t even complain, only asks that they leave some room on the tape so that she can contribute after her shift.

Tuesday morning, the kids ditch school and Steve, like the responsible adult that he is, offers up his basement as a hideout. Not that they’re doing anything _illegal_. Doing something nice for a friend should count as a good enough reason to miss one day of school. But he’s pretty sure that argument won’t fly with any of the parents if they get caught, so Steve still makes them park their bikes in the garage. His dad’s Mercedes has gathered enough dust that Steve could write his name on the windshield with his fingertips.

“So they still haven’t been home, huh?” Dustin comments with as much disdain as he can muster, dragging a finger across the hood. “How long has it been now? September?”

Steve ignores the question as they walk from the garage into the kitchen. He knows the kid means well, he knows that Dustin is just offended in Steve’s place that his parents keep abandoning him. It’s his way of showing solidarity with his friend. Steve hasn’t gotten around yet to telling him the whole story.

He leads them down to the basement and hangs back as the kids juggle cables and mess with the tape deck that he and Robin dragged down from his room last night. Sometimes he forgets he’s friends with the middle school AV club because the kids definitely know a whole lot more about this stuff than he does.

Max chases them all back upstairs once the mic is plugged in and she’s ready to record her message. Steve drags the protesting boys into the kitchen and distracts them with food to buy Max some privacy. Despite having just had breakfast at home, the boys go to town on Steve’s cereal. Only Eleven hangs back and stays glued to Steve’s side. When no one is looking, she wraps a small, warm hand around his wrist and rests her head against his arm.

Max’s eyes are red and puffy when she calls them all back down. No one mentions it, because they all know better, even Dustin. The final lines of Mötley Crüe’s _Home Sweet Home_ are playing on the tape deck. Max had made Steve listen to it yesterday and declared that she wanted to put it as the first song on Billy’s tape. She’d said it with so much force, like she expected an argument and was ready to throw down over her song choice. But Steve has gotten adept enough at reading “his” kids to notice the tears she kept trying to bury under her posturing.

“Okay, me next!” Dustin steps in once the song is over. “Because as much fun as this is, I have to be back at school in time for third period. I’m not skipping my geography test.”

“El and I should also hurry back. Right, El?” Mike looks over at his girlfriend.

“Tape first,” she replies, still barely a step away from Steve. Even without her hand on his wrist, the little girl’s presence is strangely comforting.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Mike hurriedly adds, “but you probably shouldn’t miss too much class. Being the new girl and all, they’ll notice you’re…” He trails off when he catches her stare.

“Tape. First,” she repeats slowly. “Helping friends is important, Mike. Billy is in the party. We voted.” She raises her hand as if to demonstrate. “We don’t leave a member behind.”

Mike opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but he decides to let it go and flops down on the couch. Max sits down next to him and Dustin plops down on the vacated chair by the tape deck.

“Okay, here it goes.” He clicks the mic on. “Hey Billy, what’s up? It’s Dustin. Hope you’re not too bored up there in the hospital. If you are, I’ll pass Max a few books you can borrow. And some comics. Do you like comics? Because I have piles, and I don’t hand them out to just everyone, but you’re in the party now so it’s cool. I’ll pick out a few good ones for you. And I’ve got this new book about astronomy, like how stars turn into black holes and shit, it’s great, Max can bring that too if you’d like-”

“I’m not your mule, Henderson,” Max interrupts.

“Well, I can’t just show up unannounced with a truckload of books and comics, that’s _rude_.”

“Maybe we should just make one big care package with books and stuff so Max doesn’t have to go back and forth all the time,” Lucas pipes up.

“Yeah, but we’d have to label everything so we all get our own stuff back, or that’s gonna be a giant mess.” Mike. “And no library books, obviously. My mom will have a fit if I rake up more late fees.”

“We could get him his own library card?” Will.

“I’m pretty sure he has one.” Max.

“How about you all shut up? This is _my_ message,” Dustin cuts the bickering short and clears his throat. “Sorry about that. See, I was gonna read you an excerpt about supernovas-” loud, collective groans from the rest of the kids, “-but Mike is about to kick me off the radio. We’re skipping second period English right now... Shit, probably shouldn’t have admitted that on tape. Billy, don’t let this tape fall into the wrong hands, or my ass is so grounded. And like, you know. Get well soon. We’ll come visit you. If you want. And, um. Thanks for the letter.” He glances over his shoulder at his friends, suddenly pink all the way up to his ears. “It’s cool. We’re cool.”

“So eloquent,” Max teases as she walks over and shoves the shoebox full of tapes at Dustin. “Okay, do you want to add a song as well?”

“Duh, but I brought my own.” He pulls a tape from his pocket. Max immediately looks worried.

“Dustin...”

“Oh, don’t _Dustin_ me. You asked us to contribute, so let me contribute, okay?”

“If it’s _Wham!_ , I swear to God-”

“Do I look like I listen to _Wham!_?”

“Max, you did ask them for their help,” Steve interjects. “Let him pick a song.”

“ _Thank_ you, Steve.” Dustin waves Max off, who drops back down on the couch with a huff, and refuses to even crack a smile as _Don’t Stop Believin’_ by Journey bursts from the speakers.

When the song is done, Mike kind of hesitantly asks if he could also do his message in private. Only Eleven stays with him, posted up on a chair next to him and holding his hand.

By the time the rest of the group is called back down, Mike has already added a song _(one from the shoebox selection, he swears and holds up, of all things, Steve’s Tom Petty tape)_ and Eleven has just finished her message and is furiously digging through the box of tapes.

“Max? The song from the movie?” she asks and distracts the redhead from glaring at her boyfriend for messing with her control over the _very sensitive_ mixtape..

“Oh, right. Yeah, I have it somewhere...” Max fishes out a tape and after a few seconds the basement is full of Simple Minds’ _Don’t You Forget About Me_. Steve remembers Billy cornering him in the video store when he was picking up _The Breakfast Club_ for the two girls, and something aches at the memory.

When the song is over, Mike, El and Dustin scramble up the stairs and go grab their bikes to haul ass back to school. El, who still isn’t the strongest at riding a bike and is terrified of biking through traffic, gets on the back of Mike’s and stuffs her hands into his coat pockets to hold on.

“Later, Steve!” Dustin calls out over his shoulder.

“Bye!” Mike takes off as well. El stares at Steve and gives him a heavy nod. He’s not sure what she means, but he nods back.

Another thirty minutes later, Lucas and Will also steer their bikes out of the Harrington garage and back towards school. Lucas had let only Max stay with him to record his message, and he’d let her pick a song to put on the tape. She’d settled on Bon Jovi’s _You Give Love A Bad Name_ , which Steve concludes from her smirk is some sort of inside joke between her and her brother.

Will had told them they could stay if they wanted, and he’d left Billy a short and quiet message about knowing how it feels. It would sound dumb, if not for the fact that the pale, shifty kid is literally the only one who _does_ know. He’d mumbled something about “if you want to talk about it, I know I’m a kid but I’m a good listener,” and slipped in a tape he’d clearly borrowed from Jonathan. Max huffs about it again, but lets Will go ahead. And okay yeah, so maybe _Carry On Wayward Son_ is a pretty fitting choice.

It’s just past noon when Nancy and Jonathan roll up. Rather than risk detention for skipping class, the two had waited until lunch to come over.

Nancy’s message is oddly sweet, considering how she’s not the most fond of Billy. She has only known him as the white trash psychopath who got possessed by a monster last summer, but apparently almost dying to save the world can buy a certain amount of goodwill. So she sits down and babbles about senior year and the books she’s reading. It reminds Steve why he started loving Nancy, why he will always love her in some way: even in the weirdness of Hawkins, Nancy Wheeler still has time for the normal things.

When he first fell for her she was the smart, pretty girl who wasn’t scared of anything, not even growing up. Like life was a puzzle she couldn’t wait to solve. It was astounding, really. Being around her was like taking refuge in the eye of the storm. Perfect calm. Even after monsters started coming through the walls and after she had to bury her best friend, she would pick herself up every time and set her sights on that bright, happy, normal future. He loved her for many reasons, but mostly because she knew what she wanted. That’s why it hurt so much when Steve suddenly wasn’t on that list anymore. His chance at normal went up in smoke the day she broke his heart.

He’s happy he still gets to love her in the way they are now.He can give her quiet and warmth and _I know, I got you, it’s okay_ when she’s too scared to take her pain to anyone else. And she can give him a place to come up for air and pull himself back together on those days when the kids’ boundless energy or Robin’s fierce but blunt love doesn’t cut it.

He can’t help but laugh while she talks about dancing in the kitchen to her favorite song and “-slipping and falling on my ass like the idiot I am, but I can’t help myself, it’s the song’s fault. Next time you see me you should just play it and I’ll prove it. I’ll make an absolute fool of myself and it’ll be great. And you better join me, okay? I’m gonna add the song right after this so you can practice.” She signs off and then proves her words by blasting _Come On Eileen_ and spazzing out all around the basement for the full 4:33 minute runtime of the song with zero shame.

Jonathan has never been a big talker, so he keeps it short and chill. _Get well soon. Demonic possession is a bitch, my little brother had it once. You’ll be okay soon, though. Also if you’re nice to the nurses you can usually get an extra dessert out of it_. He does break out his own Bruce Springsteen tape and teases Billy about having a shitty copy in his collection. And he overrules both Max and Steve by declaring that _Born To Run_ is clearly the superior song to _Dancing In The Dark_ or _Thunder Road_.

After they leave, Steve and Max sit on the living room carpet and eat grilled cheese while watching shitty daytime tv. They’re pretty much quiet until Robin barrels in at ten past four, still in her Family Video polo.

“I’m here, I’m tired, I’m starving, and I’m ready for my monologue. Hi, Max. Stevie baby, will you please please please make me a sandwich?”

Steve dutifully whips up another grilled cheese while Max takes hurricane Robin down to the basement to get her set up. She’s already started by the time he puts the plate down next to her. She grabs one half of the sandwich and takes a massive bite.

“Mm-mm”, she moans around a mouthful of cheese. “I also just got off work and Stevie just brought me a grilled cheese because he’s a dear. You are such a good housewife, sweetheart. If I weren’t a lesbian, I’d marry you on the spot.”

Max gives a very audible squeak and instantly turns bright pink. There’s a beat of silence.

“Oh, and I think I just came out to your little sister,” Robin tries to sound casual. “Whoops? Anyway, I’ve got a song picked out that I just know you’re gonna _love_. Catch ya later, William.” She stops the tape and swivels around on her chair to look at Steve and Max on the couch, the latter still blushing like a stoplight.

“So, Max. Um…” Robin bites at her bottom lip, still halfway tinted with faded red lipstick. Steve has never seen her this unsure. “Did you- do you understand that word?”

“I grew up in California, I know what _lesbian_ means,” she mumbles and her cheeks turn from pink to red. “It’s cool, though. I’m not... I won’t be a dick about it. I know a lot of people are like, against it for some reason. Neil was. He always told my mom she shouldn’t let me ride a skateboard or play videogames, or I’d turn into a _dyke_.” Robin visibly flinches at the slur, somehow sharp and fresh from the mouth of a kid. Max finally looks Robin in the eye. “But it just means you love girls, right?”

“Right. That’s all it means,” she replies softly.

“I knew you weren’t dating Steve.” Max sits up. “I keep telling Dustin you’re way too cool for Steve.”

“Hey!” Steve protests over Robin laughing.

“I am one hundred percent too cool for Steve.”

“So do you have a girlfriend?” Now it’s Robin’s turn to blush.

“Not really an option out here in Nowhere, Indiana, kiddo.”

“Oh. Right.” She’s quiet for a beat. “You should move to Cali. It’s different there. I mean, I think it’s easier? At least I saw gay people around sometimes. Out here it’s like everyone pretends like they don’t exist.” Steve wishes he could turn invisible. Why does it feel like his heart is breaking in an entirely new way? One look at Robin’s face tells him she’s feeling the exact same thing.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Her voice is barely audible. “Thanks, Max.”

“And I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“So… Do you have a song for the tape?”

“I most certainly do!” Robin reaches into her bag, pops the tape out of her walkman and holds it up with a flourish. “Voila.” Max squints at the name and groans.

“Oh God, no.”

“Oh God, yes.”

“He’ll hate it.”

“He needs to learn to appreciate new things. And besides, if I don’t mess with him a little he’s not gonna believe it’s really me.” So Robin hits play, tucks back into her sandwich, and blankly stares at Steve as The Outfield’s _Your Love_ starts playing, while Steve tries to astrally project his spirit to the other side of the planet.

“Hey, uh, is it okay if I record my message alone?” Steve asks once Robin’s song is done. Max frowns.

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want us to hear how many times he has to rewind and start over,” Robin saves him. “Boys aren’t very good with words. That’s why they’re always punching. Come on, I could go for another grilled cheese.”

“Yeah, okay.” They disappear up the stairs. Steve doesn’t sit down until he hears the door close behind them.

He takes the Whitesnake tape out of his back pocket and places it next to the deck. He fiddles with the mic for a few seconds, messes with his hair until he’s sure he looks quite insane. His mouth is desert sand dry.

Record.

“Okay, here goes. Um. Hey Billy, it’s Steve.”


	12. 12.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two idiots get their shit together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HI THERE. So it's been about a week. Maybe nine. I've had two absolute bullshit months health-wise BUT IM BACK BABEY and I'm here to feed all you lovely people who are still sticking with me. Hope you enjoy <3

“Are you sure?”

“Are you gonna stop asking that? You wanted to see him.”

“Yeah, but…” Steve trails off. This isn’t exactly what he'd imagined. He suspects that Max is maybe definitely doing it on purpose to torture him. Just because she forgave him doesn’t mean she’s not trying to make Steve squirm some more. He’d assumed Max would hand over the mixtape to Billy and then Steve would be allowed to suffer in isolation and relative dignity until either one of the Hargrove-Mayfield siblings reached out to him. He’d almost been looking forward to that part of his punishment. Banishment would give him time to gather his remaining brain cells and mentally prepare himself for the confrontation. 

But when Max asked him to drive her to the hospital and then commanded he park the beemer instead of just dropping her off, he knew. She was gonna make him sit and face Billy as he listened to the tape and force Steve to apologize in person like a functioning adult. The petulant part of him grumbles silently that at least she’ll be sorry if Steve’s heart just gives out and he keels over dead from the stress.

“I’ll give you two some time first,” he tries one more time as Max halts in front of room 305. “I can just wait out here.”

“Jesus, Steve, be more of a chicken,” she rolls her eyes at him and knocks.

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” he hisses right before she pushes the door open.

“Then grow a spine and figure something out. Hey, Billy.” Those last words are directed into the room as she yanks Steve over the threshold by his sleeve.

After a few weeks of endless grey clouds and almost non-stop snowfall, today is an uncharacteristically sunny day. Not nearly warm enough to start melting the thick blanket of white still piled high on rooftops and windowsills, but bright enough to make everything sparkle and give even Hawkins a certain watercolor charm. Billy’s window faces south and his blinds are open, so when he steps into the room Steve is temporarily blinded. Then Billy sits up on his bed and blocks the light. And Steve just barely keeps in a sound between a gasp and a whine.

Billy is backlit by the low-hanging sun so Steve can’t make out his features, can’t tell if Billy is instantly furious or not. It doesn’t matter either, because after more than a week of pining and wallowing in guilt, he was not prepared to see Billy with an actual goddamn _halo_ around his head. Nobody should be this effortlessly beautiful. Or is it just Steve who thinks Billy is beautiful because he’s so desperately hung up on him? Maybe a bit, but it’s definitely also the fault of those goddamn _curls_ and the way they turn to gold when they catch the light. Who the fuck looks like that after a week in a hospital bed?

_Hospital._ Right. That reminds him of where he is and it snaps him out of his creepy trance. He closes the door behind him and carefully steps further into the room as Max starts to mill around and chats away like she didn’t just technically kidnap her own babysitter.

“Heya Billy, how are you feeling?” She plonks her backpack down at the foot of his bed and starts unloading her care package. “Got you those batteries you asked for, and mom made muffins so I brought you a few. Oh, and this.” She pulls out a library book. “Edgar Allan Poe, collected short stories. Enjoy, nerd.” She places it on top of the already precarious pile of books and comics on his nightstand and turns around to draw the blinds a bit more. Billy is still staring at Steve in absolute silence.

“Oh yeah, and I brought Steve,” she adds casually as if she’d almost forgotten he was there. Now that the light is blocked out Steve can finally make out Billy’s face, which does nothing to calm the panicked hammering in his chest. He’s still gorgeous and still staring at Steve, but his face is absolutely blank. Is he mad? Should Steve just go?

He’s about two seconds away from just bolting for the door when the eye contact is finally broken by Max throwing herself across the bed and onto her brother’s chest for a hug.

“Hey, road warrior.”

“What’s up, dickhead? They treating you right here?”

“Can’t complain. No muffins, though, so that’s nice. Tell Susan I said thank you.”

“I’ll bring more tomorrow, she’s on a baking kick.”

Steve awkwardly hangs back, feels like he’s intruding on sibling bonding time. Yet he can’t tear his eyes away from this version of Billy. He’s 99% sure his medication is largely to blame, but seeing him so at ease, a little soft around the edges with his spiked defenses lowered, holding his sister with nothing but gentleness, it’s… a lot. It’s not a Billy he’s ever seen before, and yet he feels familiar somehow. Steve swallows but his heartbeat stays lodged in his throat.

“Hey.” Max sits up.

“What?”

“Got something for ya.” She pulls the tape out of her back pocket and hesitates. “Maybe it’s a bit lame, but... We made a mixtape for you. All of us, the whole party. Everyone helped pick songs and they all left messages and the result is a bit of a mess, but like... it’s the thought that counts?” She shrugs and shoves the tape in his hand, a blush starting to spread. “Here. Hope you like it.”

Billy closes his hand around the tape and frowns. He seems to replay Max’s ramblings over in his head until he gets what she means. Then he wraps her in a very long, silent hug. Steve sees his face stiffen a few times, but the tears don’t spill out from under his lashes. He only releases a drawn out, shuddering breath.

“Now explain why he’s here?” Billy asks once they’ve untangled themselves and nods in Steve’s direction. His tone isn’t mean or angry, and honestly it’s a very fair question, but it immediately reactivates Steve’s fight-or-flight response. Fighting with Billy has never once turned out in Steve’s favor, and this particular confrontation won’t be nearly as simple as punching the shit out of each other, so flight it is. The little green exit sign pointing to the door has never looked so tempting. He stays put.

“He’s here so you two can talk a few things out. Steve said he wanted to apologize. Right, Steve?” Max smiles sweetly as she puts him on the spot.

“Yeah,” he croaks out and coughs. “Yeah, I did. Um, but if this isn’t a good time I can come back later. If- if you want to, that is. Talk. With me.”

Billy is silent for a few beats as he takes Steve in with that infuriatingly unreadable look.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Okay.”

“Okay, cool, cool,” Steve huffs, the knots in his chest loosening the tiniest bit. “So then... later? Or I can come back tomorrow even, if you’d-”

“Oh no, no, no, Steve, by all means, _I’ll_ leave.” Max hops off the bed and snatches the stack of comics off of Billy’s nightstand. “You guys take your time, I’ll step outside for a little bit and _give you the room.”_ She smiles brightly at him as the trap snaps shut and Steve’s blush deepens three shades when he realizes this was her plan from the start. He’s just been played like a fiddle by a tween, motherf-

She shamelessly picks a muffin out of the care package and then turns to Steve. “Hey, can you spot me a dollar for the soda machine? Forgot my wallet.” Her smile is all teeth. Steve hands her a crumpled bill. “Thanks, I won’t take long!” she coos as she steps out into the hallway with her provisions and closes the door behind her.

* * *

When Steve Harrington steps into his hospital room, Billy wonders for a good long while if he’s hallucinating again and if he should call for a nurse. But the way he shifts and blushes and stares is too human for him to be anything but real. So Steve is here. In his room.

Huh.

He hadn’t thought about Steve at all those first few days. Everything else got pushed to the side in favor of panic attacks and nightmares about monsters and ghosts and dark tentacles appearing out of nowhere to drag him back into the Upside Down. Everything was a blur of brain scans and blood tests and endless sessions with the doc to try and convince him it had all been in his head, that the beast from last summer wasn’t coming back to get him.

He’d stopped arguing on the third day. They didn’t need to believe him, as long as they kept him safe and sedated. He couldn’t get anyone to understand that he wasn’t afraid of the beast coming back to finish him off. He was afraid of it _taking him back._ It had kept asking Billy to _come home, come back to us_ , so either it wanted to keep Billy alive down there, an eternity of running through dark vines, hunted, alone... Or it wanted him for another reason. Maybe it wanted to use him again, because Billy had been such an easy host the first time, an obedient soldier. Surely nobody would try to save him a second time, if only it could get back inside…

So he’d relaxed, accepted his fate and told no one. They had weaned him off the antipsychotics after he didn’t have another “episode” but he was still on Xanax. It kept him in a dreamlike state, floating and calm, and once he’d settled in, thoughts of Steve Harrington had slowly trickled back into his mind. He’d been too tired to do anything about it, didn’t ask Max about him. Billy had always been good at locking things up and throwing away the key. He’d been ready to file Steve away on a high shelf in his brain, where he could gather dust until the memories didn’t slice him up anymore at the slightest contact.

And now he’s here. In Billy’s room. Almost shaking out of his skin and broadcasting his nerves so clearly that even his presence is loud. He stands, pressed against the wall, the low light seeping through the blinds painting a barcode on his body. Billy sits on the bed and stares at him, turning Max’s tape over and over in his hands.

Steve speaks first. He clears his throat, visibly scrambles for words, then points at the tape. “I, uh- found your tape. The one you left me on New Year’s?”

Billy squeezes his eyes shut at the memory. Right. He’d almost forgotten about that goddamn tape. Since he never heard from Steve after the disastrous party, he’d assumed the tape had properly freaked him out and Steve no longer wanted anything to do with him. And now he’s here. _Why are you here?_

“Did you like it?” he asks instead.

“Yeah, actually, I-” he huffs out a soft laugh, “I pretty much know every word by now. Gonna wear out the tape, but it’s really good.”

“All of it?”

“Yeah.” His voice is loaded. “Yeah, all of it. That’s why I’m here, or part of why I’m here. That whole night went so completely wrong at the end and it’s been eating at me like you wouldn’t believe-”

“Took you long enough to show up, though,” Billy mumbles and it comes out exactly as whiny as he feared. He keeps his eyes down and picks at a loose thread on the blanket.

“I didn’t- I mean... You…” Steve stutters and runs his hands over his bright red face, grabs at his hair. _Gods, that hair_. “At first I didn’t know if you’d want to see me. I felt so guilty for what happened. And then Max wouldn’t let any of us near you. On that note, you’re never gonna need a bodyguard as long as you have her, she’s a bulldog.”

“Max kept you away?”

“Well… Yeah. She wouldn’t let the nurses give anyone your room number. She had a point, though, everyone needed some room to breathe and recalibrate after that night. You most of all. I didn’t want to force myself back into your life after that whole thing. And I _really_ didn’t want to cross Max. She’s scary, you know?”

He feels like he wants to be mad at Max for keeping Steve away, but before he can boil over he realizes she was right. And worried. The little twerp just wanted to keep him safe.

But now Steve is _here_ , and he listened to the tape, and he heard Billy’s stupid, emotional message. And he’s still here.

“I came to apologize,” he says, sounding more in control of his voice. “But first we need to talk about…” Sigh. “Like a hundred different things. I have so much I want to tell you and explain to you. And then _you_ need to tell _me_ everything so I know exactly what I’m apologizing for and so that I can swear it won’t happen again. Whatever it is that caused this, if it’s anything I did, I promise, never again. Just…” He gnaws at his bottom lip, runs his fingers through his hair, “just talk to me, Billy. Please?”

He turns his eyes down, very aware of his breathing. He can feel Steve staring at him, waiting for an answer as he turns the tape over in his hands again.

“Can we listen to this first?” He holds the tape up.

“Oh. Oh yeah, sure, tape first. Um.” He takes half a step forward and freezes. “Do you want me to go? If you’d rather listen to it on your own, I can-”

“Steve.” The name feels strange on his tongue, a sound he’s used to only whispering in the dark. He hops off the bed and slides down the wall until he’s sitting cross-legged underneath the window. “Sit.”

“Okay.”

Their knees and elbows touch. The wall is safe and strong behind him. He pulls out the beat-up little tape recorder Max brought over for him and pops the tape into the slot. He positions it in front of them and leans back. Steve mimics him, and now their shoulders touch as well.

There’s a short burst of static before Max’s voice crackles through the room.

_“Hey Billy, it’s me. Welcome to your mixtape, I guess. A gift from me to you, to prove that I did pay attention all those time you tried to aggressively educate me about ‘good music’. Meaning, you blasting nothing but heavy metal every waking moment. I never hated it as much as I pretended, you know. But you were unbearable, so I had to be a little shit about it.” She laughs. “I think you knew I liked it, though. No matter how much we fought, we always understood each other. We had so many bad times, I’ve lost track of how many times we screamed that we hated each other, but looking back on it now... I think we were just so incredibly similar. And we both wanted to be the angriest, needed our pain to be the most valid.” Silence. “Y’know, even during the worst moments, I always looked up to you. I hated how much I idolized you, truly. You were my cool, mean big brother who wasn’t scared of anything and didn’t need anyone. I wanted that, God, I wanted it so bad. You were immortal to me.” Sigh. “And then we came here, and it got even worse between us, and then I learned about... About Neil and everything he did to you. And I wanted to feel bad for you, but I was so angry and you pulled farther away than ever, and I just thought you actually hated me.” A sob. “I’m so sorry that it took you nearly dying to bring us here, I really am. But we’re here now. I’m here and so is my mom and we’re your family, Billy. I’m your family. I’ll always be here. Please remember that, okay? And get better soon because I’m turning fifteen this year and I’m really gonna need you around to teach me how to get into all kinds of trouble.”_

Her voice gives way to the intro of _Home Sweet Home_. Billy smiles and the movement pushes the tears that were balancing on his lashes over the edge. He sniffs a few times as more tears make their way down. Steve doesn’t make a sound but he does press himself closer to Billy on all three of their contact points.

The contrast with the next message couldn’t be greater. Henderson’s voice is sharp and cheerful and he hears all the other kids screaming in the background. It coaxes the first full, honest laugh out of Billy in weeks. _Don’t Stop Believing_ is cheesy and dramatic as hell but Billy doesn’t even roll his eyes. The tops of his cheeks are starting to glow from how overwhelmed he feels.

Little Wheeler’s message is short but kind. He tells Billy he initially voted against letting him join the party, but that it wasn’t fair of him to judge Billy on shit that happened over a year ago. _“Because to be fair, we really were a bunch idiots back then. I wouldn’t have wanted to put up with me either. And it’s not fair of me to assume you are still that person now, a year later, especially when I still hardly know you. So I promise I’m gonna start listening to Max and El when they tell me I don’t know everything. And like, if Lucas can forgive you, that’s good enough for me. Get better soon, man.”_

The song he adds, though, is _Free Fallin’,_ which is just so completely _not_ Billy’s style that he throws his head back and cackles.

“He got that off of one of your tapes, didn’t he?” He elbows Steve in the side, still giggling.

“What? It’s a good song.”

“Not in my reality.” Steve elbows him back and lip syncs along to the chorus with his eyes screwed shut and moving his fingers in a way that _maybe_ is supposed to look like air guitar. Billy greedily uses the moment to drink in every detail of Steve’s face: the color of his lips, the tip of his tongue darting between his teeth, the bounce of his hair when bops along to the beat.

Eleven’s message is the shortest out of the bunch, but it’s her soft, shy voice that cuts him to the bone. The way she says _“Let’s talk, okay? Soon. You promised. We are friends, I will help you.”_ makes him cry in an entirely new way. Steve leans a bit more into him. His arm twitches like he wants to wrap around Billy’s shoulder but catches himself at the last second. Billy chuckles wetly when she signs off saying she wants to watch “the movie” with him, doesn’t specify which one, and then the tape instantly cuts to _Don’t You Forget About Me._

Sinclair’s message is tough, just like his letter was a hard one to write. There’s a whole different layer to the apology Billy owed him, full of all the vile, toxic shit Neil had fed him from childhood and which Billy parroted for a long time. Billy had tried to copy it onto Max, even long after he’d started experiencing the world through his own eyes and started to see the holes in his father’s teachings. He had tried to bully her back in line once he saw her with Sinclair, because he knew first-hand what the consequences were for going against Neil Hargrove, just as he knew he’d share in those consequences. It was the only way he knew how to protect both of them. Kill it in the crib, before word could get back to Neil about who his daughter had been seen hanging around with. And a poisoned part of Billy’s brain had reasoned that if he had to beat up and bully a black kid and spout hateful rhetoric to keep Max (and by extension himself) safe, then that was an acceptable casualty.

All things considered, Sinclair is remarkably forgiving. _“Like, I get it. If you were raised like that it’s a lot to unlearn. Knowing that it’s fucked up is the first step. And I appreciate the apology. But just so you know, I really like your sister, so odds are you’ll see a lot more of this handsome face.”_ Max laughs in the background and mutters that he’s an idiot. _“So you better be cool, because you’re not rid of me yet. Alright, thanks again for the letter, man. Get well soon.”_ When the message is followed up by Bon Jovi, Billy has to laugh through the tension. Max is such a little shit.

Eleven might be an actual psychic, but Will Byers isn’t far off either. And it’s not just his timid voice and the words of _“I know, I understand, I’ve been there too”_ that hit him like a punch to the gut. It’s that fucking song, too. He wonders if it’s coincidence or if the kid really _knows,_ if he feels that song in the same way Billy does.

Honestly, he didn’t expect to hear Nancy Wheeler’s voice. He almost shuts off the tape in a knee-jerk reaction, remembers how she cuddled up to Steve on that pool lounger. Her voice is cheerful and her words are light and she’s the first one who doesn’t breathe a word about anything sad or fucked up. He wants to be annoyed, wants to roll his eyes and wallow in his dislike and jealousy, but it’s also the kindest she’s ever spoken to him. For all the things he hates about her, being two-faced is not one of them. Wheeler was always very clear about her disdain for him, she has no reason to put on a show now. So he has to assume she means it when she wishes him well and challenges him to a kitchen dance-off to _Come On Eileen_ once he’s better. Which sure is _something._

Jonathan Byers, on the other hand, talks about demonic possession like it’s a nasty case of the flu. He sounds completely unphased, which probably makes sense when you’re Will Byers older brother and you’ve been through this gauntlet twice already. He almost makes Billy feel normal, which is a nice change of pace. But he’s definitely gonna fight him on his Springsteen opinions, because _The River_ is the superior song and Billy is willing to die on that hill.

Robin is loud and chaotic, which is on brand. She rambles about her job and wanting to come see him in the hospital _“as soon as Max lifts her embargo”_ and even promises to bring a game of dungeons and dragons to his room if he’d be up for it. He can hear Max in the background, and Robin talks with her mouth full because she’s gross like that.

And then Robin outs herself, and Billy, knowing full well that Max was in the room, feels his stomach drop. There’s an awkward pause before she signs off, trying to play it off but there’s tangible stress in her voice. And Billy is immediately so, so worried about Robin. He’s _quite_ sure Max can grasp the gravity of the situation and won’t go blabbing _on purpose,_ but still. You just never know, and in a small town like Hawkins a slip-up like this could spell so much trouble. He’s too worried to even be mad about being forced to listen to The Outfield.

He’s trying to figure out how to ask about the aftermath of that moment without drawing too much attention, but he’s distracted by Steve slightly vibrating next to him. He looks over and Steve has his eyes closed, not like he’s listening to the song but more like he’s trying to sink through the floor. Billy guesses that means Harrington is up to bat next.

_“Okay, here goes. Um. Hey Billy, it’s Steve. I... Honestly, I don’t think there’s enough tape left for everything I need to say. I still don’t know what exactly happened that night, except that I massively fucked up by letting you leave. I’m not saying my dumb ass could have fixed whatever set you off, but you shouldn’t have been alone. I should have been there. It’s too easy to say ‘we all should have been there’, I’m the one who let you leave when I could see something was wrong. We failed you before, last summer, and letting it happen again is pretty much unforgivable, but I’m still gonna say it. I. Am. So. Sorry. You deserve so much better than having me for a friend and I really hope this is fixable, because all I want is-”_ Pause. Breath. _“-to be in your life. Because you are the most infuriating, fascinating, spectacular jackass I’ve ever met. I could already sorta see him in you last year, so no matter how much you drove me up a wall, I could never turn away from you. You are just. Magnetic.”_ Pause. _“And judging by your tape, you’ll agree. We’ve been doing this dance for over a year now because we can’t leave each other alone. For better or worse. But I really want it to be for the better from now on.”_ Pause. Steve clearing his throat. _“Look, you’ve told me to ask you for my letter, but if I need to wait then I’ll wait. If I need to earn it somehow then I’ll do just that. I know I’m up to two strikes already but I swear you can trust me, Billy. Just... I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”_ Pause. _“I have so much more to explain but I’d really rather do that face to face. So... Get in touch with me when you’re ready? Oh, and to prove I’ve actually listened to your tape, I’ll close this one out with something you’ll actually enjoy.”_

Billy’s not sure what he expected, but it sure as fuck wasn’t Whitesnake. This can’t be his life. Steve Harrington did not honestly put _Don’t Turn Away_ on a mixtape for him. It coaxes the most delighted laugh out of him, even though his chest is still humming and his head is still spinning from that goddamn speech. Steve, meanwhile, has turned a lovely shade of pink but at least he’s finally lifted his head to look Billy in the eye.

_You say your dreams are burned to ashes_

_And your smiles have turned to tears,_

_It seems to me you welcome sadness_

_As you surrender to your fears_

“I borrowed your tape. Hope that was okay. I um... really liked that song of theirs you put on my tape.”

“Did you now?” He can’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “And you picked this song because?”

“I-”

_So what's a man like me supposed to do_

_When all I want is just to make love to you_

Billy can’t help himself. He stares right at Steve and quirks an eyebrow. The poor boy flushes scarlet and looks like he’s about to faint. Billy feels something rush through his body, from the center of him outward to the tips of his fingers and toes. It’s giddy and warm and nervous. Pure joy. _There’s no way,_ he thinks. _No fucking way I’d ever get this lucky._

_Don't turn away, before the night is over_

_Don't turn away, before the night is gone_

_Don't turn away, the night may hold the answer_

_So don't turn away, before the night_

_Before the night is gone_

He’s lightheaded. He can’t stop smiling. He’s looking at Steve Harrington through half-lidded eyes and waits for him to find his eyes again. When he finally does, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights but he doesn’t avert his eyes again. It’s a brave thing, honestly. Billy might be messing with him right now because he just can’t help himself, but the bravery of Steve to gush all that out onto a tape and follow it up with _that_ particular song, and then _also_ sit next to Billy fucking Hargrove while he listens to it... At least Billy kinda had plausible deniability with his tape, what with his taste in music and five month hospital stay. And he never could have been in the room with Steve while he played it. His face would have given everything away. Kinda like Steve’s is doing now.

Steve reaches a hand towards his face and Billy’s heart skips like seven beats in a row. His thumb brushes his cheek.

“You’re crying.”

Yeah okay, maybe a little. Steve drops his hand but he keeps his eyes on Billy.

_You say your heart is lost forever_

_And you're always gonna give your love in vain_

_So you paint yourself a lonely portrait_

_And hide your love away again_

_You turn away from what you feel inside_

_You can't forget all your foolish pride_

Billy leans forward and turns the volume down a notch. Then he turns back to Steve. “So what else did you need to tell me?” Steve swallows audibly.

“Song’s not over yet,” he croaks out. Ugh, how is he still not getting this?

“Tell me anyway.”

“It’s…” He runs his fingers through his hair. “So many things. About Barb. Why my parents are never home. Our fight at the Byers. The graduation party at the quarry. Those five months you spent locked away. It’s all... It’s all connected and I’m trying not to sound like a crazy person but I keep thinking that if you get me then I’ll finally get you.”

“Yeah, none of that is what I meant, though,” he chuckles and scoots closer. “Harrington?” he sing-songs when there’s no response.

“Jesus Christ almighty,” Steve groans out. He pulls at his hair with both hands, then cups his glowing face. “Fine! Goddamnit, I’m just so fucking into you. I have the biggest, dumbest crush on you and if I don’t do something about it I’m actually going to _explode,_ and like-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Billy cuts him off, grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him in so he can slot their mouths together.

_So now I'm asking you this question_

_Am I gonna give you all my love in vain_

_Do you wanna drown in your own sorrow_

_Or are you gonna try to love again_

It’s right. It’s just so right. Billy can’t remember he’s ever felt so sure of his place in the universe like he does the moment he collides with Steve Harrington. The other boy is perfectly still for about one second, before he gives a full-body shudder and sighs into Billy’s mouth. A shaking hand comes up to bury itself in the back of Billy’s curls, tries to pull them even closer together. Billy responds in kind, finally, _finally_ getting to comb his fingers through that famous mane.

“You _idiot,”_ Billy breathes when they finally come up for air and immediately smashes their lips back together. “You absolute fucking _moron._ ”

“Why?”

“What the hell _took you so long?_ We could have been doing this for months.” Steve huffs a laugh into the kiss, then rolls Billy’s head into the cup of his hands and softly slides his tongue along the seam of Billy’s lips. _Jesus Christ, yes._

“In my defense,” he mumbles without pulling back, tongue lazily playing with Billy’s bottom lip, “never thought I’d get this far. I assumed you would murder me for trying.” He flicks the tip of his tongue against Billy’s, and that’s it. Billy swings his leg up so he can straddle Steve’s lap and grins down at him. The mussed hair and kiss-slick lips and the glow in those big doe eyes nearly do him in. Instead Billy rubs a thumb along one of those flushed cheeks, down, down, to gently grab his chin and angle his head up.

“Pretty boy, you could have kissed me in the parking lot on my very first morning at Hawkins High, and you would’ve had me right then and there.” Steve stares up at him, a dopey grin curling around his lips.

Guess we’ll have to make up for lost time.”

* * *

Kissing Billy is nothing like he’d imagined. In his daydreams Steve had imagined fire, teeth, tongue, hands pulling his hair too hard, maybe some taunts. Billy was always running his mouth anyway, he’d probably make it into a joke. 

Steve didn’t expect this, the shivers and tears, the hesitant hands and the greedy eyes. It’s impossibly better like this because it’s so painfully honest. It’s the most real they’ve ever been with each other, hungry and in awe and so full of something that they overshot happiness by a mile and are shaking out of their skin, spilling over with it.

When Billy climbs into his lap and grins down at him, with the low rays of sunlight creeping through the blinds painting streaks of gold across his form, Steve forgets how to breathe. It’s a glimpse of the old Billy but rearranged. Rage switched out for maddening intensity, the lies scrubbed off to make room for vulnerability, fear slowly shifting into recklessness. It's intoxicating to finally be face to face with the boy he fell for.

For what feels like an eternity, Steve can't do anything but stare. Then he winds a hand in the front of his sweatshirt and yanks him down for another kiss. So Billy falls, and Steve catches him. Utterly in awe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES FINALLY WOO.  
> Also, announcement: now that these two idiots finally smooched, there might be a rating change coming up soon. If you're not cool with the explicit stuff, I'll try to mark the scenes so you can skip over. And to everyone else: welcome to the part of the story where I'm gonna make myself write smut for the first time ever. Be very afraid.
> 
> And I still love you all and I hope you forgive me for the wait. IM SLOW AS HELL BUT IMMA FINISH THIS, COME HELL OR HIGH WATER. <3


	13. 13.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of dialogue from the hospital. And kissing. A lot of kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, MORE OF THIS. If there's anyone still out there, here I am, broadcasting from quarantine, to serve you more of our favorite boys. The world is on fire but escapism through fanfiction never ends.  
> I hope you are all okay, or as okay as we can still hope to be. I love you all, fiercely and forever.  
> Stay safe, stay sane, and enjoy. Mwuah. <3

They live in a week of dizzying bliss after that.

Steve visits Billy every single day, gets kicked out by a nurse several times for staying well past visiting hours. They don’t care that they get reprimanded, or that they almost get caught more than once. They’re completely stupid-drunk on kisses.

Steve’s favorite part, other than getting to wind his fingers in Billy’s hair and pull him in for one more kiss, and another, and another, is that first moment when he walks through the door into Billy’s room every day. That second when he turns his head and his eyes light up and he bites the tip of his tongue to contain a smile that Steve has never seen him wear before. It’s one part shy and three parts joy and it makes Billy a very different kind of beautiful. It’s like a punch to the gut in the best possible way, because it’s a smile that Steve, and only Steve, has earned.

Every second they are alone in the safety of the hospital room, they have to touch each other. They’re either slotted together on the too-narrow bed, legs and lips tangled up, or they are on the floor by the window, holding hands and climbing into each others’ laps while the radio plays in the background. There’s a warm fluttering in his chest and a weakness in his knees that Steve recognizes from every shitty love song ever written. He can’t even find the time to roll his eyes at himself for being a sappy fool, when every day just brings him more Billy, more kisses, more  _ goddamn butterflies. _

There’s not just kisses, though. In between, they finally find the time to talk. A little bit every day.

“You said you had things to tell me. So talk.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything, Harrington. Start from the beginning.”

“Fine,  _ Hargrove.  _ But then you tell me yours. So you better clear your schedule.”

“I have nowhere I'd rather be anyway,” Billy hums into the crook of Steve’s neck and Jesus, that shouldn’t sound so sweet. So Steve leans back against the wall, interlocks their fingers, and starts talking.

***

“Do you know why Robin sort of lives with me? Why my parents are never home?”

“Because they’re assholes?”

“It’s... more complicated than that. It used to be that they were just on business trips a lot. Mainly my dad, when I was younger. As soon as I was old enough to stay home without a sitter, my mom would go with him more and more. Found out later it was because he cheated on her all the fucking time and she didn’t want to let him out of her sight.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. So they’d be gone more and more often, sometimes for days on end. I didn’t mind anymore by then, because when you’re sixteen, having the house to yourself feels like a gift.”

“The legendary house parties of King Steve.”

“Yeah, those days. And then… everything went to shit.”

“Barb?”

“Yeah… Barb.”

“You gonna tell me about her?”

“Yes. But not right now, okay?” Steve takes a shaky breath to steady himself. “Maybe tomorrow or something.”

“Okay.” Billy raises Steve’s hand to his mouth and presses his lips against the smooth skin on the inside of his wrist. “You were saying?” he mumbles around a feather-light kiss against his pulse.

“So everything went to shit. Twice. Fast-forward to senior year and I graduate dead last, bringing eternal shame on the family name, yada yada, like I care. At this point I’m barely sleeping, my life’s a mess, my only friends are a bunch of middle-schoolers, I quit basketball, Nancy left me for Jonathan-”

“My splendid ass was another daily distraction,” Billy adds. “You poor thing, no wonder you couldn’t sleep.”

“Shut up,” Steve elbows him in the side with a huffed laugh. “I still wanted to beat your face in, back then.”

“Ain’t no rules saying those things need to be mutually exclusive. And a brawl is a perfect excuse to cop a feel, trust me.”

“Oh, is that what you were doing, huh?” Steve runs the index finger of his free hand across the thin, pale scar that disappears into his hairline. Billy twists around and stretches up to plant a kiss on the mark.

“You can’t be mad about that anymore, you already forgave me,” he whispers into Steve’s hair and flashes him a brilliant smile. Steve tries and fails to not smile back. “You were saying?”

“Then stop interrupting, you ass.” Steve wrestles Billy back into a comfortable position against his chest. On a whim, he nips at Billy’s shoulder with his canines, through his shirt. Not enough to hurt, but enough to get a startled yelp in response. “Behave,” he murmurs as he plants a kiss to the ridge of his jawline.

“You’re one to talk.” But he does settle into the touch and shuts up.

“After last summer…” Steve hesitates. “After Starcourt, and half the town being in ruins, after everyone found out… There was no more playing pretend. My parents found out that I had been ‘involved’ and it never went back to normal after that. I never told them anything they didn’t read in the papers, never told them about the monsters or the Upside Down, or that I’d been a part of the madness for almost two years already. Although I think my mom suspects something. But anyway, I was released from the hospital with all my new damage, and... And they couldn’t cope.” He gives a humorless laugh. “Imagine that. It was too hard for  _ them  _ to understand, too  _ foreign _ . So many bad words: trauma, medication, therapy. It’s a good thing Hawkins got so openly fucked up this time around and half the town ended up in some kind of therapy, or they’d have carted me off to a sanatorium in Maine out of sheer embarrassment. Because therapy is for the crazies, y’know?” 

There’s a long silence. When he speaks again, Steve is mortified at how choked up his voice has gotten.

“They lasted until the end of summer. I guess they tried, to the best of their abilities. But we were strangers living in the same house. They were so nervous around me, everything was stilted and painful. So when they finally told me their plan, I knew what they really meant. My dad kept saying it was easier for him to be closer to the main offices, that this was an idea they’d been considering for over a year, and if I’d gone off to college they might have moved up there even sooner and simply sold the house. But now that I had a  _ job  _ here, and  _ friends _ , and  _ my doctor _ , if I would rather stay here then they would make arrangements. And of course they would come back to visit often, as soon as I  _ got better. _

So they put the house in my name, called it an advance on my inheritance. And then they moved. I haven’t seen them since September. My mom calls sometimes, and she puts my dad on the phone, and we all run through our lines, and then we hang up. Robin lives with me most days of the week because neither of us can bear to be alone anymore. She put off college for a year, to work through her own damage, but also so she wouldn’t have to leave me behind. I’ve never had anyone care about me like that. She’s my family now, and I have the kids and Nancy and Jonathan and Joyce, and we’re this strange, fucked up little unit but we make it work, even if my parents couldn’t, even if my mom and dad didn’t want to stay...”

The tears have started falling by now, and Steve’s voice fades out in a sob. Billy pushes himself upright so he can wrap Steve in a tight embrace. It’s ridiculous how easy it comes, how the careful touches between them suddenly are as natural as breathing. Like they’ve been doing this forever, they fit their bodies together until the rest of the world blinks out of existence.

“And me,” Billy adds. “You have me.”

“What?” Steve pushes his tear-streaked face out of the crook of Billy’s neck so he can see his face, so he can tell if he’s joking again. And Billy, bless him, seems equally stunned by the words that just came out of his mouth.

He tries to play it off with a shrug. It’s all so new, so fresh. Nothing has ever been this fragile. But he blurted it out because he means it, and he won’t take it back. “I just... Yeah. I mean, if you want to, you have me. In your unit.”

Steve wipes his eyes with his sleeve and collapses against Billy’s chest, suddenly tired down to his bones. “Okay,” he sighs into the warmth of his skin. “Okay.”

***

“What happened that night? On New Year’s. Why did you leave?”

“Just. Everything. I thought I could handle it and it was all too much, and by the time I felt it, it was too late.”

“Yeah but that’s the clean version, right? That’s what you tell Max and the doctors.” Steve nudges his nose against Billy’s cheek. “I want to understand. Please tell me?”

“Fine, okay. If you must know... Nancy set me off.”

“Wait, really? How?” Steve tries to draw away with a frown but Billy locks his arms around him. Doesn’t want to look him in the eye right now.

“Not- Nancy herself, per se. Just... Everything she represents. Nancy Wheeler being your ex-girlfriend and you being so close with her. It all kinda snowballed on me, and when you didn’t want to go swimming and instead chose to cuddle up with her... Let’s just say the voice in my head got really loud.”

“So, jealousy?”

“See, I’m trying to not make it sound so stupid and childish, because in the moment it was  _ very  _ real. But yes, if you want to put a name to it, it was probably jealousy.” Now Billy is trying to shrug out of the embrace, but Steve snakes his arms around Billy’s waist and won’t let him leave.

“No, it’s not stupid. I think I get it. I’m... trying to see it through your eyes.”

“It was everything. Being around all those people, the fireworks going off, Eleven cornering me outside the bathroom-”

“I didn’t know she did that.”

“Well she did, and I’m sure she meant well, but it took me right back to last summer. And then we got high, and we got in the pool, and the whole time you were  _ right there _ . You were so close, and everything from the last few weeks, from that high school party to you getting my car towed as a Christmas gift to me making you a mixtape, it all caught up with me at once.”

“But then I didn’t get in the pool with you,” Steve adds slowly. “I stayed on the lounger with Nancy.”

“It kinda felt like stumbling right before the finish line, you know? I was so wired and raw and hopeful, and the disappointment cracked something open and let the voice out.”

“You keep saying ‘the voice’, what do you mean? Like, a little voice in your head? Talking to yourself?”

Billy catches himself before he snaps at Steve. He’s a little too observant at times. “That’s... Not today, okay?”

“Okay.” Steve raises one of Billy’s hands up and presses a kiss to the spiderweb of scars. “Another time?”

“Yeah.”  _ Maybe. Perhaps next week. Perhaps never. _

“So it set you off, and the voice made it worse?” Steve guides him back to the conversation.

“Sorta. Seeing you with her, it suddenly seemed so pointless. I had been  _ so _ into you for so long, and you were  _ so clearly _ straight and still into her, and I just had to get out of there. Couldn’t bear to keep watching. I felt less than nothing.”

“Okay, but just to be clear,” Steve grabs Billy’s face between both hands and smashes their mouths together, nips at Billy’s bottom lip until he can slip his tongue in when he gasps, “you know that’s bullshit now, right?” Another kiss. “You know that Nancy is just a friend, and that I’ve been going crazy over you for a few months now?”

“Hmm, maybe.” Billy pulls Steve into his lap until he’s straddling him and he can ghost his lips along the dip of his throat, right at the collar of his polo. He smirks when he feels the faint shiver running through the other boy’s body. “You wanna prove it?” He sticks out his tongue and flicks it over the exposed patch of skin. God, he knows he shouldn’t do that  _ here,  _ but it’s so tempting and every little sound he pulls out of Steve, every twitch of his legs clamped around his hips edges him on.

“You wanna finish your story?” Steve shoots back, a little breathless.

“Not really,” Billy hums as he deftly winds his fingers in the fabric of Steve’s shirt and pulls, revealing a few more inches of pale skin by his collarbone. He laves his tongue over the spot, which is quite sensitive, if Steve’s squeal is anything to go by.  _ Mine,  _ he thinks.  _ For now, for however long they’ll let us have this. All mine.  _ And he closes his lips over the spot and sucks, and Steve spasms in his grip, digs ten blunt nails into his back through his t-shirt, and lets out the most beautiful, choked-off groan. Billy lets go with a pop and gives one final lick over the deep red mark he left.

“You’re an ass,” Steve pants.

“You’re welcome,” Billy grins back.

“Finish your fucking story, Hargrove.” Steve stays seated on Billy’s thighs and lets Billy hide his face against his chest, only occasionally gives his curls a little yank when he starts to tongue at the lovebite again.

“I let it get the better of me. I convinced myself I had to leave, even though I knew it was beyond stupid to go out on my own. When you caught me at the door, a part of me wanted to stay so bad. I wanted you to see what was wrong, and to fight me for it. I wanted you to make me stay, because it would mean that you cared.”

“Jesus Billy, I’m-”

“Stop saying sorry. Not your fault.”

“Yeah but it is, though.” Steve pulls him back by his hair and kisses him like he’s trying to crawl inside. “I wanted to, I really did. I honestly didn’t know how, and I knew I had fucked up the second you were out of sight.”

“It’s fine, Stevie. Wasn’t fair of me. I’m a stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, well so am I. Next time you try to leave like that, I’m handcuffing myself to you.”

“Ooh, kinky!”

“Not like  _ that,  _ dickhead.”

“I mean, can it be a  _ little  _ bit like that, too?”

“You are a nightmare,” Steve sighs over Billy’s cackling. “Go on. How did you get from my driveway to the hospital?”

“I uh…” He chews at his bottom lip. “Well, first I took a shortcut through the woods.”

_ “Billy.” _

“Yes, I know,  _ mom _ . Mistake. I freaked myself out big time, and by the time I got home I was full-on hallucinating.”

_ Liar. _

“Shit, really? What did you see.”

“I... I’d rather not. Not today, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

_ Coward. _

“Hey, Billy?” Steve nuzzles at the top of his head. “No pressure, okay? Tell me when you’re ready.”

“I will,” he lies through his teeth.

***

“What was she like?”

“Barb?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s weird, I feel like I only got to know her after she died. But with all of Nancy’s stories, I also know her better than most people I was actually friends with in school.”

“So what was she like?”

“She was… sweet. Sweet and gentle and crazy smart. She was always worried about everyone else, mostly about Nancy. Her and Nancy were best friends since anyone could remember, the kind of duo you see in kindergarten and you just know, they’re still gonna be attached at the hip when they’re ninety years old. She was that quiet kind of funny that smart people can be, where they just have all the right words to punctuate anything that happens around them. And she was shy, and a nerd, and people picked on her for it. Me being one of those people. She- she really didn’t like me going after Nancy.”

“Me and her would have gotten along great,” Billy quips.

"It's strange to miss her when we never really knew each other. It's this constant guilt eating at me, every time I look out at my pool. To know that she died such a gruesome death, completely alone and scared out of her mind. At first the pool unsettled me because well, Barb was still down there, right? In this other dimension, just beyond the veil, she was slowly rotting away. Every night in my dreams, I saw her float up through a rift in the Upside Down. Every time I looked out my window I was so sure I'd see her, silent and dead, floating on the surface. Or clawing her way out to come take her revenge, to ask me why we didn't save her.”

“Morbid. Continue.”

“And then later I felt guilty because, of all people, I didn't deserve to have her memory living in my backyard. She had so many people who cared for her. Parents who waited for her and looked for her for a whole year. Friends who grieved her when they finally put up a headstone. She deserved so much better than to haunt some asshole’s pool.”

“And that’s why you didn’t want to swim when I was being whiny about it.”

“I had told you I don’t like swimming because a girl drowned in my pool. I never told you how it happened, and how bad it was for me. I generally don’t talk about it, ever, because I’m still messed up about it and all my friends know the details. So it just never comes up. I froze up in the moment. You didn’t know why because I didn’t tell you.”

“Still. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“So, do you not swim at all?”

“I haven’t in over a year. I wanted to, last summer, but the public pool had this new douchebag lifeguard who is also stupid hot and I wasn’t sure I’d survive.”

“Oh Harrington, any excuse to give you mouth to mouth,” Billy grins and pecks him on the lips. “So would you let me take you swimming when I get out of here?”

“Sure, I’ll let you take me to the pool. But only if we get ice cream after.”

“The pool... Or the beach,” Billy muses before he can catch himself. Steve goes quiet.

“Not a lot of beaches in Hawkins,” he tries to play it off. “But we could drive up to Lake Michigan when the weather gets warmer. I went up there loads with my family when I was younger.”

“M-hm. Or California.” The word hangs in the air like the silence between lightning and thunder. “The beaches are a lot nicer there, you know. And I promise I’ll buy you ice cream.” Billy swallows down a mouthful of sand-dry nerves before he can look Steve in the eye. They’re both pretending like they didn’t hear what he actually said.

“Sure, Hargrove,” Steve whispers. “I’ll let you take me swimming.”

***

“So when did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you  _ liked me,  _ Harrington. Or when did you start thinking I was hot, at least.” Billy leans over Steve and wags his tongue because he’s gross and he knows Steve is into it.

“I mean, you were always hot.” Steve trails a hand up Billy’s side, slowly pushing the fabric of his shirt up. He’s gazing down between their bodies at the form of the boy hanging over him, supported by his hands and knees. Steve’s eyes glaze over when he catches more and more of the golden skin, the hard lines of abs, the sharp ridge of a hipbone peeking out of grey sweatpants. “That was the annoying part. I hated you so much and you annoyed me to no end, but you were always fucking hot. It was confusing as hell because I’d never really thought about a guy like that before. Or at least not a guy I knew in real life.”

“Wait, stop, hold it right there. Care to elaborate?”

“Do you want me to talk about you, or Rob Lowe?”

“Fair point. Continue.”

“Well, I always just figured I appreciated any objectively good-looking person. Didn’t give it more thought. Wasn’t supposed to think about guys like that, so let’s not go opening that particular box.”

“The struggles of growing up in Indiana. I’m going nuts just imagining it. No wonder half the people here turn out so twisted and repressed.”

“Anyway, I never really had to think about it until I had to deal with you every day. Even when we had our little dust-up at the Byers, it was constantly at the back of my mind: he’s hot and I can’t stand him.” Billy barks out a laugh at that. “Yeah, laugh it up. It’s hard to fight someone who’s in your head like that. I was kinda nervous about touching you.”

“Afraid you might like it.”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles. “Yeah, pretty much. It didn’t fully hit me until the graduation party, though. That night at the quarry?”

“Dude, that’s in my top five most wasted nights, you’ll have to refresh my memory.”

“You eh, you came onto me pretty strongly. It started out as taunting but you got... very intense.”

“I bet I did.”

“Yeah, and you had your dick out for half of it as well, that didn’t help.”

“Excuse you, I had what?”

“You took a leak like, right next to me and kept staring. Sidenote, it’s so fucking strange to feel threatened by someone while they have their dick in their hand.”

Billy throws his head back and cackles. “Oh fuck me, of course I did. I’m not even questioning that.” He leans back down and quirks an eyebrow at Steve. “So what, did you sneak a peek at the goods? Is that how I finally got you?”

“Fuck you, and no I didn’t. Who looks at a guy’s dick while he’s taking a piss?”

“So are you saying you  _ did  _ look when I  _ wasn’t  _ taking a piss?” Billy teases.

“We showered together after practice for half a year,” Steve deadpans, “and you  _ always  _ picked a shower near me. You figure it out.”

“Yeah, but did you look? Like, on purpose?” Billy’s gaze is starting to get too warm. Steve can feel himself flush, hears Billy chuckle when his only reply is guilty silence.

“Don’t you dare laugh, Hargrove. You looked more than once.”

“Bullshit, you  _ never  _ caught me.”

“No, but you did just admit it,” Steve grins and quickly kisses the playfully offended look off Billy’s face.

“I think I remember something from that night, though,” Billy mumbles. “Either I imagined it, or did I ask you to break into the school and go play basketball?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course I did,” Billy giggles and leans down, “because I have no,” kiss, “self,” kiss, “control,” kiss.

“What do you mean? What’s the deal with basketball?”

“Oh just... my favorite little daydream about you.” Billy’s eyes slide half shut. “Especially after you left the team. I’d waste so many hours imagining it, how I’d get you onto the court again one day, after hours, preferably at night. One last game between the kings. No spectators, just you and me playing our absolute best, pushing all the way to the edge.” Billy starts to lower himself down towards Steve. He can feel the heat radiating off him, the slight shivers going through him. “We’d work up a sweat, bump into each other. Maybe my defense is a bit to aggressive, you know how I am. Maybe you get sick of my shit and you take a swing.” Billy touches his hips down to Steve’s, and Steve chokes back a gasp at the pressure, the sensation of a hard ridge pressing against his thigh. It’s both completely foreign and achingly familiar.  _ So that’s how that feels.  _ Billy’s voice is breathy as he goes on. “Maybe I’d get you on your back, or maybe I’d let you get me up against a wall. But I’d get my hands on you somehow, right there in the middle of the Hawkins High basketball court.” Billy moves his hips in one slow, shallow roll against Steve’s and his brain almost bluescreens from the sensation. He feels Billy’s breath against his lips as he murmurs, “I’d make you scream my name.”

“Do you, ah,” Steve pants as he tries to talk through a searing kiss. “When you get out of here. Do you maybe wanna go play basketball?”

***

It takes them seven days before they get caught. Which is not a bad record, all things considered.

They don’t get caught by a doctor or a nurse, which is good. They’re not even in a terribly compromising position. It’s not like they’re making out or anything. But they are on Billy’s bed together, watching tv, and Billy is nestled between Steve’s legs with his head on his chest, and Steve is playing with the curls that have escaped the messy bun. His other hand is interlocked with Billy’s. So it’s not  _ scandalous,  _ but also way too far out of  _ innocent  _ territory. Especially because the person who comes barging in without knocking is Max.

She looks annoyed, sure. Maybe even a little mad. But not as shocked as she should be. There’s only the faintest flush of pink creeping over her cheeks when she rolls her eyes and sighs “You’re not slick, you know. And I’m not stupid, Steve, do you really think it matters  _ now  _ that you let go of his hand?”

So Max figured them out. She got suspicious when she talked to Steve in the hospital parking lot, and she puzzled it together bit by bit after that. She’s actually pretty miffed that neither of them trusted her enough to  _ tell her,  _ because what did you think I was gonna say, huh? As if I’d ever be one of those bigoted cunts,  _ yes I can say that word, Billy, and that’s so not the point right now.  _ You should have told me, assholes, I’m on your side. Of course I am! What the fuck. And you should tell the rest as well, no one will be weird about it. We all just want to see you happy, both of you. It doesn’t fucking matter, okay? Not to us. Just be happy. And at least tell Robin.  _ What do you MEAN Robin already knows?! _

She eventually calms down. Steve and Billy say goodbye with a chaste peck, and Steve walks out with Max, his ears still glowing with shame from getting caught and chewed out by one of his kids.

“So you care about him like  _ that,  _ huh?” she asks bluntly as they walk out into the evening dusk and the biting winter winds lash at them.

“Yeah,” Steve admits. “Have for a while now. It got pretty messy because we were both idiots about it, but I’ll do my best to get it right from here out.”

“Okay.” She spins around and stops Steve in his tracks, pokes a sharp finger in his chest. “If you hurt him, I’ll make you long for those sweet, simple days when the Russians were gonna pull out your fingernails with pliers. ‘Kay?”

“‘Kay,” Steve squeals. She smiles sweetly and starts walking towards the parking lot.

“Oh and Steve, could you please drop me off at home? I don’t like taking the bus in the dark. Thanks.”

“As if there’s anything out there in the dark scarier than you,” he mumbles under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'VE BEEN LOCKED IN MY HOUSE SINCE MARCH 17TH AND I AM LOSING MY MIND.  
> PLZ BE KIND IF THIS IS ALL KINDS OF NOT GOOD.  
> I TRIED.  
> I LOVE YOU.
> 
> much love to everyone who commented on the last one, and special love to Bizznatch and Sylla, who left me comments that I forwarded to all my friends because ljhsreiuntuzerxdjesuhqzlk <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Duffers, for pissing me off to the point that I actually signed up for an AO3 account and started writing again for the first time in four years to fix this mess of a season. Consider this fic my personal therapy. Billy Hargrove deserves better.
> 
> (secretly dedicated to Gabriele, my little fox)


End file.
